


On the Run

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, First Times, M/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-10-27
Updated: 1998-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-11 05:13:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the title says, they are on the run...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Due to length, this story has been split into two parts.

##  On the run 

by  
DannyD  


Author's website: <http://home.centernet.de/~dexter>

Disclaimer: The Sentinel belongs to Pet Fly Productions and Paramount. No money, no copyright infringement, no claim on anything but the content of the story. This is purely intended to entertain the people. 

Notes: I started working on this story in July or so and it never took me so long to write a story. On one hand, RL played its tricks on me, I lost a job, found a new job, and went on a wonderful vacation; on the other hand, the subject of this story itself. I desperately wanted to write this but I feared I wouldn't be able to treat the topic with the skills and care it deserved. Thanks to my wonderful friends lt;hugs...> who encouraged me to go on and write more any time I sent them a snippet and begged on my knees to tell me if it sucked. Luckily, they never did. 

Then, when I read the terrific and bone-chilling story "The trigger Effect" my world crumpled a bit because it was so extremely well written but...that...that was my idea!! Again, my friends were there to reassure me my story would be totally different and I believe them . 

I was thinking about dedicating "On the run" to everyone out there who ever wrote to me and encouraged my writing, sending virtual pats on the shoulder. As I said before I started this story a few months ago and even this intro has been written already. However, I changed this paragraph here because I would like to dedicate this 'baby' to a person, to a friend of mine, I first met online about a year ago, then I met her in person in August and we spent a wonderful time in Sentinel City, BC. Can you say "goofballs?" :-) She contributed a great deal to "On the run" with her lovely emails, nudging me to write more and praising when I did, or complaining I was teasing her. Just the way good friends do. Thanks, Carmen, I hope you'll like the revised version. Consider yourself hugged from across the miles! 

I'm almost finished... Thanks to JD and Leila for their beta -- I'm glad I know you guys. And I also know how much work you invested in this story. Rike, thank you so much for your support during this 'project'. Love ya, my friend. 

The two books I mentioned do not exist as far as I know. I just made them up and thought those titles sounded intriguing. 

And I hope the town of Applebush does not exist either. Would be better for 'em. 

* * *

The brutal blow to his groin was delivered with excessive force, intending to hurt, intending to harm. Detective Jim Ellison doubled over with the pain. His knees buckled and he hit the wooden floor. He gasped and the cry he wanted to suppress was ripped from the depths of his soul as the agony ran through his body like lightning. Instinctively, Jim curled up into a tight ball, his moans of pain filtered through the smoke-filled air. Trying to calm his breathing, Jim fought to find the dial to turn down his sense of touch. He felt the wetness of tears on his face, but deep breaths only resulted in involuntary sobs. 

Voices. Distant voices. Coming closer. Fading again. His entire being was focused on the pain raging through his body, and Jim couldn't hold onto a clear thought. 

Just pain. 

Each breath provoked another wave of fire, and Jim panted heavily, his lungs demanding air he wasn't prepared to inhale. 

The voice came closer and Jim's brain functioned enough to grasp a few snippets. 

"Lessons learned". 

"Murderer." 

"Having a little fun." 

A hand touched his back and Ellison flinched. The pain in his groin hadn't subsided much and in expectation of another attack, he tensed up, strong muscles clenching like iron cords. The touch, though, was gentle, soft and warm. A soothing voice, panic-stricken but calming, spoke to him. 

What did the voice say? Concentrate on the voice. 

"Jim? Jim, you alright?" 

Of course, he was not alright, he wished he could tell that voice to stop asking stupid questions, but his breath was still short and labored. He recognized that voice though. 

"Come on, buddy, try to breathe.... I know it hurts," the voice spoke again and this time recognition gave a name to it. 

"Sandburg," the detective gasped. He opened his eyes. 

Three people. Men. Big. Brutal. Merciless. Crazy. 

Then he heard the voice again. "Take it easy, Jim,". Sandburgs voice was soothing. 

Sandburg - what was his first name again? 

"Blair...," the name came out between a whimper of pain and a moan when Jim tried to shift his body. His hands covered his hurt genitals and he could not find enough strength to form a full sentence. 

The voices he'd heard before spoke again.. 

"I say we must kill him!" one man insisted, hissing the words between clenched teeth. 

"Try to dial down the pain, Jim," Blair suggested in a low voice only his partners sensitive ears could hear. 

Jim shook his head. 

"Sandburg...." he tried again. Moments later a curtain of long brown curls fell in front of his eyes. 

"I'm here, Jim," his friend assured. The hand on Jim's back continued the soothing rhythm of stroking. Slowly, painfully, Jim managed to move his screaming body into a kneeling position. His private parts throbbed with each movement, Jim moaned again. 

"Chief..." Jim moved, hissing, wincing, as he placed one hand on the ground for support while the other was still pressed to his crotch. 

Blair grabbed Jim's hand when his friend tried to support himself on Blair's shoulder. "Try to breathe, Jim," the anthropologist said. Their eyes met and all Blair could see was pain, unbelievable agony, and ...determination. The instinct nature had blessed him with and that had been sharpened in the jungles of Peru sparkled dangerously in the older man's eyes. Blair had seen this look before. The primal instinct mingled with rage and desperation was an explosive combination. The anthropologist sensed Jim's plan but before he could whisper the words to make him reconsider, the Sentinel jerked into action. 

With a growl like that of a wounded animal, Ellison jumped, and lurched forward,crashing into one of their captors with the full weight of his body. The man yelped in surprise - it was the last sound he made before the detective knocked him down. Jim didn't bother to check if he was dead or unconscious. He whirled around to attack the second man, the one whose voice he'd heard but his attack ended as abruptly as it had begun. A sharp pain in his head sent Jim to his knees! Fighting the fog settling in front of his eyes, he dropped to the ground. His vision dimmed but survival instinct made him struggle to his feet again. He felt warm blood tickling down his neck into the collar of his shirt. Jim's hands jerked to touch the wound, and his fingers pressed into the back of his head. From somewhere Blair's voice echoed through his head, shouting a word his brain tried to translate. 

"Jim! NOOOOOOO!" 

A vicious blow to his kidneys sent Jim crashing back to the floor. Moaning at the pain firing through his back, the Sentinel slowly rolled to his side. His eyes captured the anguished eyes of his young friend \- as another kick to his groin preceded merciful darkness. 

* * *

"Jim! NOOOOOOO!" Blair Sandburg screamed, his eyes wide with the horror he just witnessed. Blair's heart broke and his soul bled when he had to watch helplessly as Jim collapsed for a second time. The man's outcry of pain died in the air as his body went limp Blair violently jerked his arm away from the tight grip holding him. He knelt beside Jim and gently touched his face, his fingers roaming to check his pulse. The steady rhythm beat under his fingertips but Blair gritted his teeth when the unfamiliar emotion of rage started to build up from deep inside his heart. Angry thoughts circled through his mind, all of them cursing the men who had hurt his partner without a reason. 

His partner. The man he loved... in his secret dreams. 

"Why did you do this?" Blair's voice was firm, trembling as he tried to suppress his rage. The young student looked up at the three men leering at them, his normally warm blue eyes displaying the hatred he felt. "He didn't do anything!" 

One of the men, apparently the head of the trio, shook his head pitifully. "Your ...friend here resisted arrest as you just saw for yourself." There was a strange emphasis on the word "friend" but Blair was too enraged to bother. 

"Resisting arrest?" he repeated as he stood up. "What do you think he did that would justify an arrest **and** a brutal treatment like this?" He gestured towards Jim's unconscious body. 

The man, Sheriff Philips, spoke again, calmly, slowly, as if Blair needed help understanding his reasoning. "I'm the law in this town and your friend is our best suspect in the murder of Miss Joanna Jackson who was found dead two hours ago in her apartment. Your buddy here was seen at her house this afternoon." 

This was ridiculous, Blair thought. "So what? I know he went there 'cause he helped her this morning. He had no reason to kill her. He's a...." Blair faltered for a second, deciding not to reveal Jim was cop. "He's a...good man," he stuttered. 

"A good man, huh?" the second man, Michaels, spoke up from where he was helping the third man Jim had knocked down. "So tell me, hippie boy, why did he rape Ms. Jackson and kill her afterwards?" 

Blair shook his head. This was not happening. This could not be happening. Before he could reply to the accusations against his partner, the sheriff pointed to Jim and ordered: "Put him in a cell." 

Blair raised his hands in surrender. "If you arrest us, I think we have the right for a phone call." Figuring they wouldn't grant him the phone call as the law requested, he was surprised when the Sheriff made an inviting gesture toward the phone. "Call whoever you want, kid. Your friend can't be helped." 

* * *

The phone rang several times. The monotone of the ringer unnerved Blair. Maybe it was because with each passing ring, the chance to get a hold of Captain Simon Banks shrank. Blair had dialed Simon's home number knowing the captain had his weekly poker evening at his place tonight. Blair and Jim had participated a few times but then Simon had requested that Blair keep his **observer** status and not take part in the game. Loosing at cards to a youngster was just too humiliating, Simon concluded. Blair absolutely did not mind. He'd enjoyed watching the guys playing-Taggert, Brown, Rafe, Jim and, their newest member, Megan Connor. The poker faces they made very just too hilarious so Blair usually joined them for the Wednesday poker evening, observing and silently laughing. 

Someone finally picked up at the other end of the phone, and Blair sighed with relief. 

"Daryl Banks," the young voice of Simon's son came through the receiver. 

Blair made a fist and forced himself to stay calm. What if Simon had moved the game to another place? Maybe... maybe they were at the loft. Jim had asked Simon to look after their home from time to time and... 

"Hi Daryl, this is Blair. Could you get Simon for me please. It's urgent," Blair said. 

"Oh, hi Blair!" Daryl replied cheerfully. "How's your trip going?" 

Blair forced himself to stay calm and not to shout at the kid. "Daryl, please, get your dad. We're in trouble." The anthropologist took a deep breath as he heard Daryl's reassuring reply. Then, the receiver on the other end was placed on the table. Blair cast a look at Sheriff Philips who watched him calmly, a small grin on his face. He seemed completely unconcerned. 

"Sandburg? What's wrong?!" 

Blair's heart jumped when Simon's bark came loud and clear through the line. "Listen, Simon. Jim's hurt, weve been arrested by....", he stammered out. 

Click. 

"Simon?" Blair shouted. "Simon, are you still there? Simon!" His face paled as Philips dangled the disconnected phone line in front of his face. 

"Enough said, kid," he decided and grabbed the younger man's arm. 

"You have no right...", Blair protest but the sheriff simply burst into laughter. 

" _I_ have every right. You'd better learn that lesson before you'll regret it later," the warmth of his breath swept over Blair's ear and Blair flinched. "Move it!" 

The student was dragged out of the sheriff's office, as Philips' fingers dug deep into the flesh of his upper arm. Being significantly smaller than the sheriff, Blair barely managed to keep up as they walked down the corridors towards the cell block. 

Blair's mind raced, recalling the events of the last 24 hours, and hoping to find a way to wake up from this nightmare. He didn't realize that their ordeal had not even begun. 

* * *

A couple hundred miles away, Simon stared at the dead receiver in his hand. He replaced it and hoped the phone would ring again after a few minutes. Simon waited. 

Nothing happened. "Come on, Sandburg," he murmured. Sharply focusing on the telephone, he started tapping on his wood desk. "Ring!" Simon took a deep breath and released the air slowly. This was not good. Maybe the batteries of Blair's cell phone were empty? Simon shook his head. No, it was highly unlikely **both** cell phones were empty. At least not with Jim's paranoia - they probably had a bag full of accessories and batteries. What else? Thunderstorm disconnecting the line? Blair had said Jim was injured. Accident. However, Blair was smart enough to call everyone else before calling him. The blood ran cold in the captain's veins recollecting Blair's last words before the line had broken. 

"We've been arrested...." 

"TAGGERT! BROWN! My office!" Simon yelled. Deep in thought and worried about his friends' lives, Banks didn't realize he wasn't at the station. He lit a cigar. 

"Sir?" 

Looking up Simon discovered his poker partners standing in the doorway to his living roomthe four police officers waited, their faces marked with concern. The tall black man at the desk rubbed his face and chewed on his cigar before answering. 

"Guys, I think our dynamic duo is in trouble." His dark eyes didn't show the light humor his words carried. 

* * *

Earlier the same day... 

"Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise," Jim Ellison recited, grinning as he stowed the last of their bags in the truck. His grin broadened. Sandburg shuffled towards the vehicle and with a huge yawn and opened the passenger door. 

"'morning," was all he said as he climbed into the truck and immediately rested his head against the window and closed his eyes. 

With a quick look at his sleeping passenger Jin shut his door with a loud bang and smiled mercilessly as Blair jerked awake and shot him a startled glance. "What?" he mumbled. "Are we there yet?" 

Jim pulled himself behind the wheel and started the engine. "Only in your dreams, Chief." He threw a map in Blair's lap. "Here, you're the guide." 

"Hhhhmmm," Blair grunted and looked at the closed map. "Straight ahead." he offered, crossed his arms over his chest and went back to sleep. 

"As you say, Sandy," Jim confirmed and steered his truck into the early morning traffic. 'Oh, this gonna be a fun day,' the Sentinel thought, determined to follow his partner's directions to the letter. Hopefully, Blair would wake up before they reached the Canadian border. 

They had decided on this trip out of the blue. It was Wednesday morning, and the idea was only 24 hours old. Born of a comment Blair had made on a cold gray Monday. "Man, Monday morning, ten minutes past eightand the damn week just doesn't seem to end." Despite the light tone of the joke, Jim had noticed the underlying frustration and fatigue of 'yet another week'. It was not that Blair didn't enjoy his work with Jim or at the university , but he'd reached the point where his energy was running low. Jim shared the feeling but wouldn't have paid attention to his own needs if Blair hadn't said something. Blessed Protector or mother hen, within a few minutes Ellison had jumped to the conclusion that his young friend needed a break, a few days to unwind. The look on Blair's face spoke volumes as Jim announced his idea and, secretly, the Sentinel enjoyed the thought of a short trip himself. Suspicious, Blair had asked if there was something wrong. If Sandburg was honest with himself, he was afraid Jim would want to escape the way he had the last time Blair had been "in his face" for too long. 

No, nothing was wrong this time, Jim mused happily as he drove straight ahead passing through small towns and even smaller crossroads townships on their way to nowhere. Simon Banks had miraculously agreed to Jim's vacation request, wished them a good weekend, and, with a strange tone is his voice, a 'relaxing time'. 

"I am relaxed," Jim said to himself focusing on the town sign a few miles away to read the name. "Applebush", he murmured and turned his attention back on the road in front of him. 

Some many things had happened during the last few months, and Ellison looked forward to a couple of days away from the big city. He was glad Blair had agreed immediately to join him (after making a few phone calls at Sandburg pace to swap classes with his collegues at Rainier). If Jim gave it a second, deeper thought, he realized he was looking forward to a couple of days spendt with his friend. 

An old adage flashed through Jim's mind. "Happiness is time spent with a friend and looking forward to spending time with him again." Jim smiled. "Guess that makes me a happy man," he concluded and looked over at the sleeping form of the young police observer. 

Police observer, anthropologist, teacher, guide and friend... Blair embodied so many things. Jim admired him. Admired his knowledge, his never-ending enthusiasm, his ability to compress a ton of information into one sentence. If he had to make a choice he'd always prefer Blair Sandburg, the friend. A friend he could share joy and laughter with. A man he trusted and could rely on - okay, maybe not when it came to reading a map or cooking a decent dinner, Jim chuckled. 

They passed the welcome sign to Applebush, and Jim decided to stop there for breakfast. Looking for a parking space, Jim drove slowly. 

"Hey, Chief, what do you say we grab something to eat?" he addressed Blair. Receiving no answer, Jim reached over and gently patted Blair's thigh. "Come on, buddy." He rested his hand on the denim leg and, deep in thought, brushed his sensitive fingers over the surface of the cloth. 

Concentrating on his sense of touch, Jim sensed the warmth of Blair's skin under his pants. The slight pulsing of blood vessels pounded under his fingertips. Suddenly, Jim felt heat starting to build up in his groin. He jerked his hand away quickly 

What was that? What THE HELL was that? 

His arousal faded as quickly as it had come but Jim's heart was still beating wildly in his chest. Distrusting his body's reaction, the detective glanced at his sleeping friend again. If at all possible his heart rate sped up into the next gear. His palms were suddenly sweaty, and Jim gripped the steering wheel tightly. 

Blair was his friend. A funny guy with long, silky curls, and incredible blue eyes. A man any mother-in-law would dream of. A man... 

...he loved. Always had. Right? 

Ellison stomped on the brake, bringing the truck to a screeching halt as awareness set it. Beside him, Blair startled awake, blinking into the sunlight of the early day, his heart racing with the shock of the sudden stop. 

"Jim...?! What is it!" The anthropologist shouted in alarm as he saw Jim was staring out of the front window, his whole body tensed up, the grip on the wheel probably painfully strong. Blair touched the older man's arm. "Jim? You okay, man?" 

Turning his head, Jim's blue eyes seemed haunted, like something unexpected had just happened. "Yeah...just a dog running across the street," Ellison hastily explained. "You ok, chief?" he inquired. 

Blair nodded. "Sure, you just startled me." He looked out of the windshield at the scenery. Puzzlement was evident on his face. "Hey, where are we?" 

Jim managed to catch his breath again although his heart still thundered. Struggling to keep his voice neutral, he answered: "Welcome to Applebush, Chief!" He spotted an empty parking lot. "There we go..." Angling the truck into the narrow space, Jim distracted himself from those very disturbing emotions that were still rolling around his head. 

"Applebush?" Consulting the map which was still resting in his lap, Blair gasped in surprise. "Hey, Jim..., did we say we wanted to go to Seattle or something? That's definitely westwards, and this town here is up north of Cascade." Shaking his head, Blair stared at the map trying to figure out where Jim was headed. 

"You said to drive 'straight ahead', and so I did," Jim replied, his inner turmoil calming down as he teased his friend. 

"You did what?" Blair exclaimed. "I was still half asleep when I said that." Looking around he wrinkled his forehead at the sight of the town's main street. A few shops, a bank, a post office, and, at the end of the street a department store Pedestrians hurried to perform their tasks, going to work or school. 

"Sorry, Blair," Jim smiled. 

Blair gave him a suspicious look at the mention of his first name. Jim rarely called him that though the police consultant like the sound of his name from Jims mouth. He jumped a little when the Sentinel suddenly yanked open the door and climbed out of the truck. "Jim?" The man's behavior was definitely suspicious. 

Blair followed Jim out of the truck and fell in step beside him. "So, what's your plan?" 

Jim reached inside the truck again to retrieve his bag. "Breakfast. Motel. Fun." 

Did you really say FUN, Ellison? Jim fumbled with the zipper of his bag and then patted the pockets of his jackets, pretending to be looking for something very important. 

Blair laughed. "I love it when you make plans, big guy. They are always so explicit and thorough." 

After having breakfast at a decent little cafe, Jim and Blair checked in at a small motel located in the heart of the city. The receptionist watched the two men with a strange look in his eyes. Blair interpreted the glance as 'people from the bigger cities usually mean trouble' and smiled reassuringly. No way, trouble was on vacation this time, and, after all, what on earth could happen in a town named "Applebush"? Surely, that sounded like a living clicheacute; but Blair hoped to defy his usually bad luck. 

The town's only bookstore drew Blair's attention asthey strolled down the main street. Jim followed Blair's gaze and could see eagerness to explore the shop in his friend's eyes. 

"Don't you ever stop?" Jim inquired as they crossed the street and headed towards the bookshop. 

Blair, not quite realizing that Jim was directing them towards the store, raised his eyebrows. "What? - Looking?" Blair replied as he stopped and turned around to admire a beautiful, dark-haired woman passing by. 

"You know, Jim, when you stop looking, you're actually dead, man," Blair explained laughing. He didn't notice Jim was rolling his eyes. "I mean it's like..." 

"I'm talking about the bookstore, Sandburg." Ellison indicated towards the shop window decorated with the latest Grisham novel. The blush on Blair's face escaped the older man's view and the anthropologist rushed forward to grab the door handle. 

"Would you mind if I take a look?" 

Jim made a dismissive gesture. "No prob. What do you say if we meet here in an hour?" he suggested. Blair nodded his agreement. "'kay, see you then." 

"Chief?" 

"Huh?" Blair stopped short, the bells of the shop ringing as he held the door open. 

Jim curved his mouth into a grin. "Stay out of trouble, you hear me?" 

"It's a **bookstore** , Jim," Blair retorted, winking as he entered the shop. 

"'Once upon a time'..." Jim trailed offas he strolled down the main street. He turned up his enhanced hearing and, just for fun, focused on his partners voice. The shop's bell rang again as the door closed . The Sentinel winced slightly at the loud sound. He could clearly hear Blair's friendly "Hi there!" as he greeted the shop assistant. lt;Good morning, sir, how can I help you?> Jim imagined a gesture, a waving hand maybe, directed at the numerous book shelves. lt;"Thank you, but I just would like to take a look around. I'll let you know if I need any help."> The silence didn't last long. lt;"Excuse me, ma'am, I see you have a large number of antiquarian books. Do you have anything on anthropology or archaeology? I'm particularly interested in...">

The sound of soft crying broke over Blair's delightful chatter, and instinctively, Jim tuned in on the heart-breaking sound. As soon as his hearing had picked up the sound, he had focused. It seemed as though his senses decided which information was important and which could safely be ignored. 

Jim concentrated and followed the weeping sound. It sounded like a childs cry. Piggybacking hearing on his sense of sight, the detective concluded it originated from the department store down the street. He couldn't tell why he was so determined to find out what was wrong. Maybe the kid had just fallen and hit his or her knees but an cold feeling crept down Jim's spine, driving him to the store. Yanking the huge glass doors open, Ellison stepped inside. The sounds other shoppers talking, walking and rattling with things assaulted him, and Jim hurried to reduce the sensory input. Carefully, he turned his sense of sound up again and filtered through the multiple tones and voices. 

There it was! 

A little boy was standing at the bottom of the escalators, weeping softly but no one seemed to be paying attention. Others in the store moved by, too occupied with their own business. 

ignoring the little lad. 

A sickness of our society, even in small towns, Jim thought, anger starting to build at the lack of interest in the childs distress. To a certain point the detective could even understand people's reasoning. The news was full of scary stories about men or women who cared and got robbed or even murdered for their willingness to help. But for crying out loud, this was only a little kid! Jim mentally shook his head as he approached the weeping child. 

"Hey there," Jim greeted him. A friendly smile radiated from his face and his blue eyes shone warmly. 

Despite Jims reassuring demeanor, the kid shrank away as Jim crouched down in front of him. Resisting the urge to touch his arm, Jim simply raised his hands and said: "Easy, little Chief, I'm not going to hurt you." 

The boy was maybe four years old with dark brown curly hair and eyes that were filled with tears. Fearful of the stranger, he looked up into Jim's face. In a tiny voice he whispered: 

"I'm no 'little chief'. My name is Danny." He even sounded a bit indignant and Ellison's smile broadened. 

"Okay then, Danny, " Jim corrected himself. "I'm Jim." Receiving no reply but another heart-breaking look, the man asked: "What's wrong, Danny? Why are you crying?" 

Thick tears began rolling over Danny's cheeks and his voice cracked. "Joanna's gone," he revealed and even more pearls of moisture trickled down his face. 

"Who's Joanna? Your sister?" Jim probed gently, while he reached into his pocket and fumbled for a handkerchief. He tenderly dabbed at Danny's wet cheeks as the boy shook his head. 

"No, Joanna's my aunt," Danny explained in a tear-stricken voice. "She...she told me...to stay at her...side..but I wanted to look at the toys...but...but...but...." Unable to finished the sentence, the tears came again. 

"Shhhh, don't be afraid," Jim patted the kid's shoulder soothingly. "What do you say if I help you find Joanna?" Jim offered. 

"Mommie told me not to go with strangers," Danny remembered and stepped back. 

Jim nodded his agreement. "Your mom's right, Danny. You should listen to her and never go with a person you don't know. But you see, I'm a police officer and it's my job to help lost kids," he explained, reaching into his pocket again. "This is my badge and it says I'm a detective in another city." 

The shiny shield got Danny's attention. "Really?" his voice was down to a whisper again but Jim of course had no difficulties understanding him. 

"Really! I've found a lot of lost kids where I live and brought them back to their aunts." 

The big brown teddy bear eyes resembled the expressive eyes of Sandburg. Danny took a few tentative steps towards Jim. Suddenly, he threw small arms around the detectives neck and laid his head against Jim's. The Sentinel could hear the little heart racing with fear, and he returned the trusting embrace gently. Slowly, Ellison straightened while Danny clung to his neck. 

"Okay, Danny, let's find your aunt," Jim said enthusiastically. "Just let me think for a second." 

Standing with his back to the passing crowd, Jim closed his eyes and turned up his hyper-active sense of hearing. He wished Sandburg was there to guide him through the process. Jim had never tried to locate a person whose voice he hadn't heard before. Now, the only thing he could focus on was a female voice looking for Danny. 

lt;"I need to return this blouse  
because I accidentally got the wrong size.">

lt;"No, you won't get any ice-cream before lunch. Now shut up.">

lt;"Please charge my credit card.">

lt;"Danny?">

lt;"Excuse me, miss? I bought this item here yesterday and...">

What was that? Jim tried to rewind the snippets he'd been listening to.  
Where was it...?

lt;"Danny? Where are you? Sir, have you seen a little boy with brown hair, short and t-shirt, about this tall...?"> The woman seemed to be near a panic attack. lt;"Danny!">

Smiling, Jim rubbed Danny's back. "You know I have this feeling your aunt might be right over there in the toy department." Danny raised his head and his eyes sparkled hopefully. He wiggled in Jim's arms and the detective put him down again. 

"Are you sure?" The boy asked and again Jim was amazed to see all his emotions displayed in his eyes. It was so like Sandburg. 

Ellison nodded. "Yes, I'm positive. Let's go." Walking into the direction of the toy department, Jim suddenly felt Danny's little hand taking his own. The fingers were damp and even a little bit sticky but Jim cherished this gesture of trust. 

Joanna Jackson's eyes were swimming with tears as she recognized Danny running towards her. The hug she gave him was born of relief and joy, and Jim was glad to see she wasn't one of those people he'd seen who scolded youngsters for getting lost like. Ellison hadn't lied to Danny when he told him he had brought back a lot of kids. During his time as a uniformed officer, Jim had learned that love instead of anger was the best reminder to not do it again. He smiled watching the warm greeting. 

"Oh my god, Danny, I was so scared," the woman said, and stroked the boy's hair. "Where have you been?" She hugged him again, holding him closer. 

"I wanted to see the toys," Danny explained in the same tiny voice he'd used with Jim. "And then you were gone." A few tears escaped his eyes and his aunt gently wiped them away with her fingers. 

"My darling, why didn't you tell me? We could've gone together." Another heart-felt embrace and Jim sensed she didn't just say that, her concern was genuine and he could tell from her racing heart she had been scared to death. "How did you find me?" she asked. 

Danny beamed with joy. "Detective Jim always brings back lost kids!" he stated seriously and waved at Jim who was standing nearby. 

Joanna didn't let go of Danny's hand as she turned to face Jim. "You found him?" she asked. 

"Yes, ma'am," Jim replied. "I heard him crying out for you and thought he could use a little help." He winked at Danny and tousled the boy's hair. 

"He has a badge from another city," the child crowed. 

Joanna extended her hand. "Thank you so much...is it Detective?" she cast a hesitating glance at Danny's tale. 

Jim bowed his head. "Yes, my name's Jim Ellison." 

"Joanna Jackson. I'm Danny's..." 

"...aunt. I know," Jim filled in. "Danny and I had a nice chat while we were looking for you." 

Joanna laughed. "Oh, I bet you did! Danny is usually very communicative. My sister and brother-in-law are on a business trip to Asia and I'm taking care of Danny while they're gone." 

"...what is commuu...communicative?" the kid interrupted. Now that he had found his aunt, his spirits spiked from zero to one hundred in millisecond. 

"You know I have a good friend who might just be able to explain it to you," Jim answered. "As a matter of fact you remind me of him." It was a praise easily given because it was true. Danny had so much of Blair, maybe not physically except for the eyes but now as the shock and fear wore off the kid couldn't stand still. 

"I do?" Danny babbled again. "Can he come play with me this afternoon?" Hope wavered in his voice, and Jim just couldn't shatter the moment. 

"Well, that depends...." he began, as Joanna intervened. "Danny, did you want to spend the afternoon and evening at Martin's house? His parents invited you to stay at their place over night." 

Danny made a face. "I wanna play with Detective Jim's friend," he insisted. 

Joanna crouched down and gently place her hand on his shoulder. "Sweetie, I'm sure Mr. Ellison has other plans for the day. And so has his friend." She looked at Jim. "I'm sorry, Mr. Ellison." 

Jim shrugged casually. "It's no problem, Ma'am. We are on vacation and actually have no plans in particular." Checking his watch, he said: "However, I gotta go now. Blair has probably bought every book in that store by now." Jim patted Danny's face. "It was very nice meeting you, little chief." 

Joanna stood again and touched his arm. "Mr. Ellison, I don't know how to thank you." Jim made a 'it's-nothing' gesture but she continued: "I really mean that." She glimpsed at her nephew. "If you have time this afternoon, maybe you and your friend would like to come over to my house for some coffee and cake?" 

Jim sighed as he saw Danny practically bouncing with enthusiasm at her offer. Who in the world could resist a bouncing four-old with the intoxicating charm of a 28-year-old anthropologist? Certainly not him. 

"It would be a pleasure," the detective agreed. 

* * *

The dining room table was set beautifully. The yellow table cloth matched the nice yellow and blue china. The afternoon sun sparkled through the large window, adding warmth and brightness to the already cozy atmosphere. 

Joanna Jackson eyed her table setting and stepped back in satisfaction. The coffee must be done by now, and, tugging at the table cloth one more time, she went into the kitchen to fetch juice and coffee. Ice-cubes would be nice, she decided, reaching for the freezer door. 

"Danny!" she shouted, assuming the boy was playing within hearing range. "Would you like to help me making ice-cubes?" 

Her nephew didn't answer and Joanna figured he was already outside waiting impatiently for their guests. Recollecting their meeting this morning, a smile brightened the woman's face. Despite the scary circumstances of Danny's disappearance, Joanna looked forward to seeing Jim Ellison again. That man was a hunk, and she was more than pleased he'd accepted the invitation. ...as if Danny would have allowed him to beg off, she mused, recalling the kid's delight. 

The door bell rang. 

"Danny!" Joanna called again. "Our guests are here." Quickly, she walked to the front door and opened it. "Hi!" A bystander would have noticed the surprise in her voice. Nevertheless she greeted the police officer with friendly words. "Nice to see **you**. Come in..." 

* * *

Blair was bouncing back and forth on his toes as he waited for Jim's return. His friend had suddenly vanished into thin air, mumbling something Blair couldn't quite make out. 

The story of the lost child been told in detail. Well, Ellison-detail: "There was a lost boy in the store. I helped him find his aunt and she invited us for afternoon coffee." Blair wished he could've been there to observe Jim using his Sentinel abilities to locate Joanna Jackson. On the other hand, the bookstore had been proven itself a paradise of old, long out-of-print books, and the anthropologist had purchased several 'dust-catchers' as Jim called them at very reasonable prices. 

Sandburg shot a look at the blue sky trying to estimate the chances of rain for the later day. He was only wearing jeans and a shirt. A few clouds overhead promised rain. Maybe Jim could tell. 'Smelling the rain', Blair grinned pondering about going back inside their motel room and grab a jacket. 

"Sorry, Chief..." Jim's voice came from behind, breathless, and Blair turned around in anticipation. The older man waved with a small but colorful bunch of flowers. "I thought we should bring something," he explained. "There's this flower shop down the street I remembered smelling it this morning." 

Blair made a mental note to add the "smelling it this morning" to his collection of information on Jim's "casual sensory awareness"- sensing without actually thinking about it. "I knew you had a romantic touch," he replied, winking, but his gaze was glued to the flowers. 

Jim noticed the direction of Blair's gaze and hurried to say: "Do you think it's too much? I mean I didn't go for roses or anything." 

Blair shook his head. "Nonono, it's a sweet gesture, Jim. I just..." he trailed off, uncertain of his next words. 

"What?" Jim probed, glancing at the bunch in his hands as if they would morph into a poisonous jungle plant any second. "Would chocolate have been a smarter idea?" The thought invaded his mind - what would **Blair** prefer. Jim had given Blair little gifts, sometimes invited him to dinner like he did with other friends. But Jim suddenly wanted to know what kind of love gift the young man would cherish. It startled him. 

The flowers had Blair's full attention. He'd always thought of them as a wonderful way of showing love, or to acknowledge an invitation. Blair couldn't help but feel an ache in his chest. Deep in his heart, in a remote corner, Blair Sandburg wished the flowers were meant for him. 

"I like those flowers," he stated simply, praying Jim wouldn't just now tune in to his thundering heartbeat. He certainly would have no logical explanation for that sudden peak in his longing heart. 

"We'd better hurry, Chief," Jim didn't notice Blair's inner battle, and he playfully nudged Blair's shoulder. "We're late already." 

"Hey, Jim could you make a quick 'rain check' for me?" His earlier question about the weather change came to mind as a way to direct the attention elsewhere. 

"Rain check?" Jim looked at him quizzically. 

Blair grinned. "I mean is it gonna rain today?" He pointed at the sky. 

The Sentinel shook his head. "No way, Sandburg. I'm not your portable weather-station," he growled grinningly. "Make your own guess." 

The two men arrived at Joanna Jackson's house a few minutes late. Ringing the door bell, Jim listened for sounds inside. 

"You gonna love Danny, Chief," Ellison said. "He's such a cute kid. He actually reminded me of you," he added warmly. 

Overwhelmed by the unexpected compliment, Blair said: "Of me? Why?" He raised his eyebrows in question. His features grew serious as Jim's eyes narrowed, and the detective rang the bell again and knocked at the door. Joanna should have answered by now. 

"Joanna!?" he shouted. 

"What is it, Jim?" Blair could tell from Jim's expression he was listening intently. 

"Something's wrong." Jim tried the door handle. "I can smell blood and there's a faint heartbeat." The Sentinel crashed his shoulder against the door. "Joanna!" he yelled, knowing that it was her heartbeat that beat so weakly. On the third try, the door lock surrendered and the door swung open with the sound of splintering wood. 

Rushing into the house, Jim extended his senses to pinpoint the woman's location. 

"It's Jim Ellison," he called out. Walking down the hallway Jim suddenly realized he was neither carrying his gun nor his badge. Too warm for a jacket today... 

With Blair behind him, Detective Ellison entered the dining room. The blood ran cold in his veins as he surveyed the terrifying scene. He heard Blair's gasp of shock, and quickly gave him a slight reassuring touch. 

"Take it easy, Blair. Go call an ambulance," Jim ordered before rushing to the prone form of Danny's aunt. He knelt beside her and tenderly touched her face. Her heart rate was barely audible, even to a Sentinel's ears. 

"Joanna?" Jim softly spoke her name. 

No response. 

With shaking fingers Sandburg dialed the number and reported what they had found to the woman on the other end of the line. In all those years Blair had worked with Jim, he somehow had never seen a rape victim. Even without experience, the young man recognized the ugly signs. 

Joanna Jackson was a beautiful woman. However, lying on the floor in her own dining room, she was a ravaged wreck. The remains of a neatly arranged coffee table - probably set for their visit - were scattered around her body as though she had grabbed the tablecloth in her struggle. 

Her face was bruised, the skin around the eyes was swollen, and blood oozed from a head wound. In some spots the blonde hair was dark with blood. 

Blair didn't mean to stare but as he slowly moved to Jim to offer his help, he catalogued her injuries. The blouse was torn, and between the tangles of her clothes, Blair could see a couple of deep stab wounds bleeding profusely . Jim's hand already covered the larger wound but the blood kept pulsing between his fingers. 

"Hang on, Joanna, help is on the way." Jim said in a voice Blair had heard before: Soothing, calming and pretending everything would be okay soon. He had always trusted that voice. 

The anthropologist swallowed hard as he dropped onto his knees beside Jim. The two friends exchanged knowing glances but neither uttered a word. 

Joanna's skirt had been ripped off her body. The tatters of her panties clung to her hips, bloody scratches crisscrossing her inner thighs. Blair closed his eyes to shut out any further evidence of the brutal rape. Jim must have sensed his discomfort because he said: "Chief, get the blanket on the couch." 

As Blair took the thin blanket and carefully draped it over Joanna's violated middle, the poor woman suddenly gasped and opened her eyes. She moaned in pain, and Jim reached out to stroke her hair. 

"Shhh, it's okay, Joanna," he soothed. 

Her eyes slowly rolled to the side to follow the sound of his voice. Joanna opened her mouth slightly and a small stream of blood tickled out of the corner. A gurgling sound escaped her throat as she tried to speak. 

"Easy...everything's gonna be okay, Joanna," Jim reassured. "You gonna be alright." The hand had that had stroked her head now gently brushed over her bruised cheek. "You gonna be alright," he repeated, and Blair suddenly knew his friend was lying. 

Joanna whimpered in agony as Jim applied more pressure on her chest wound to staunch the bleeding. Her lips parted again, her eyes pleading with him, and a word, inaudible to the rest of the world, mingled with the last intake of breath. Her eyes broke, staring into emptiness as her heard slowly rolled to the side. 

"Oh my god," Blair breathed. He shivered despite the cheerful sunrays drawing funny patterns on the carpet. The cold breath of death had just whirled through the room capturing Joanna's life with its deadly claws. 

With a tenderness Blair had never seen before, Jim closed Joanna's eyes and rested his hand on her face for a moment. 

"What...?" Blair started but stopped to lick his dry lips. "What did she say?" he completed, whispering the words as if he was afraid to disturb her slumber. 

Finally, Jim let go of the woman's body. His hands were covered with blood, his eyes pained with the emotional trauma. 

"Danny." Taking a deep breath, Jim composed himself and indicated the back door. "Sandburg, could you try and look out for him. He's probably playing outside, and doesn't have to see this." 

Tearing his eyes away from Joanna's pain-distorted face, Blair nodded. "Sure, Jim." He turned to leave. 

"Chief?" 

Still dazed by the suffering of the young woman, Blair stopped in his tracks and slowly turned his head to look over his shoulder. Jim still knelt beside the dead body, his bloody hands clenched into fists. "I'm sorry **you** had to see this." 

Blair didn't know what to say. In the distance, they could hear the sirens. 

* * *

'I should've brought my jacket.' The odd thought struck Blair as he and Jim entered the sheriff's office. Heavy raindrops pattered on the window and distant grumbling of thunder promised a stormy night. Black clouds darkened the sky, and the anthropologist shuddered at the macabre twist of things. Even the sky grieved, showing sorrow with its eerie play of gray shades and forms. 

It has been two draining hours since they had found Joanna Jackson. The paramedics arrived shortly after she'd passed away and declared her dead. Jim gave his statement to Deputy Sheriff Anderson - ugly details told in a calm, analytic voice that didn't reveal emotions but Jim's jaw muscle twitched as if stuck in overdrive. Black and white pictures captured every shocking angle of Joanna's ordeal. The flash of the photographer's camera irritated Jim's sensitive eyes. Blair watched him blinking and squinting anytime the flash illuminated the scene. Maybe it was the Sentinel's shock reaction, Blair didn't know. Stepping closer, the young man lightly touched Ellison's back while he talked to the deputy. "Try to relax." A short, gentle message and as Jim turned his head Blair noticed his pupils where huge and wide open. The detective shrugged but nodded. Blair stood close and maintained an almost imperceptible body contact while Jim tried to avoid the flashes. Anderson threw them a questioning look and Blair recognized it as a smirk. However, the student didn't care. It was important to him to help Jim and if his friend needed a comforting touch, Blair would provide it without hesitation. 

Now, Jim and Blair were standing in the hallway of the sheriff's office. They hadn't found Danny, although Jim had stretched his senses to the extent of a near zone-out. Maybe the little boy was just playing with some friends and had forgotten the time but Jim doubted it. As far he could tell Danny was so eager to meet "Detective Jim's friend" that he probably wouldn't have gone far away from the house. And maybe the child had seen every terrible detail of Joanna's murder... 

"Chief, let's not mention Danny yet, okay?" Jim requested while they waited for the sheriff to talk to them. 

Puzzlement was evident on Blair's face as he raised his eyebrows in question. "Why not?" he asked back, lowering his voice. 

"I don't know. I can't quite put my finger on it," Jim admitted. "Call it a hunch." He went silent for a moment, trying to name his suspicions. "My senses picked up something..." Jim trailed off. 

Switching into guide mode Blair's mind started whirling, making guesses, checking them logically and dismissed them quickly when they didn't make sense. "What sense picked it up?" he wanted to know and watched Jim as Jim hung his head, searching for the sensory information that had bothered him. 

Letting his min wander, the detective focused on a stray lock of his partner's long curls, a wave of soft brown hair falling onto Blair's shoulder. Jim followed the outline of the single lock, its elegant curve and shining color. He was suddenly dreaming with his eyes open and reached out with his hand. 

Astonished, Blair allowed Jim's fingers to touch his hair, twirling it a bit, feeling the soft texture. Blair held his breath at the intimacy of Jim's touch, but seconds later he recognized the familiar signs. "Jim - don't go too deep." 

A door opened, and three men approached them. 

Jim jerked his hand way like he'd been burnt. "Smell," he remembered. The mental image disappeared, and Jim concentrated on the three uniformed police officers in front of them. 

Still the scent memory remained. 

The first man spoke up. "I'm Sheriff Philips. This is deputy Michaels. I believe you already met Deputy Anderson." His two co-workers nodded. 

Scent remained... 

"Yes, we met at the apartment. Jim Ellison. This is Blair Sandburg," Jim introduced them curtly. 

Remained... 

"You are not from here, are you?" It was a statement rather than a question. Philips gave Jim an estimating look and then he glanced at Blair. "What brings you to Applebush?" 

"We're on vacation and arrived here this morning," Jim explained. 

Blair noticed the tension radiating from Jim's body. This was oddly unsettling, Blair found. 

"Vacation?" Anderson echoed. "I didn't know our town had that many tourist attractions." The man obviously expected an answer and Blair jumped in. 

"Yeah, it's my fault, you see. I read the map and we drove in the wrong direction." He laughed easily but the three men didn't share his amusement. "We wanted to go to Seattle and ended up here." Another innocent smile. Jim didn't comment. 

"What's your relationship with Miss Jackson?" Philips inquired. 

This sounded more like an interrogation, Sandburg thought. "We...," he began but Jim cut in before the anthropologist could answer. 

"I met her this morning and she invited us to her house this afternoon." 

"You must be a real lady-killer," Michaels remarked, winning only an ice-blue stare from Jim. However, Ellison didn't reply and returned his attention to the sheriff. 

"We arrived at her house at approximately ten past four, and, as you will probably learn from the autopsy, she died shortly thereafter." Jim nodded towards Deputy Anderson. "Your officer here took our statements." 

Sheriff Philips exchanged a mute conversation with Anderson. There was something in their behavior Blair found strange and disturbing. The answers to their questions were all covered in the report he and Jim had given earlier. Why this odd interrogation? 

"Did you notice anything suspicious?" Philips continued. 

"No." 

Blair shook his head, too. "No. Nothing." 

"Was she conscious?" Suddenly the questions came like gun fire. "Did she say anything?" 

"No," Jim lied. "I gave her first aid but it was already too late." 

Understanding, Philips nodded. "Was that why your hands were covered with her blood?" 

"Yes." 

Blair followed the verbal exchange with growing concern. Jim's cut-to-the-chase answers were not that unusual but why didn't he tell them he was a police officer himself and that they could help find the murderer of Joanna Jackson? 

Anderson stepped forward. "Couldn't it be because you caused her injuries in the first place?" he challenged. 

"I beg your pardon?" Blair didn't trust his ears. 

Ignoring his younger friend, Jim answered: "No." He motioned Sandburg to keep back. 

"Couldn't it be because you raped her and stabbed her with the kitchen knife?" Anderson stepped even closer, entering Ellison's personal space. 

"You're out of your mind," Jim stated simply, his face a mask of stone. 

"I am?" Anderson repeated, his awful breath assaulted Jim's sense of smell. "Do you want to know what we do with rapists in Applebush?" 

The conversation had turned horribly wrong and Blair's mouth dropped open as his brain tried to digest the information his ears supplied. 

"Gentlemen, I think we should start all over again at the beginning and...," Jim started, his hands raised in a calming gesture. 

The brutal blow to his groin was delivered with excessive force... 

* * *

A hard shove to his back made Blair lose his balance and stumble forward into the small cell. The police observer fought to stay on his feet. The heavy barred cell door closed behind him and it seemed to Blair that it severed some fragile thread of hope that he might wake up from this nightmare. 

"Listen, you're making a big mistake here," Blair reasoned with Philips. "Our friends know where we are and you won't get away with this." Simon, please, please, find a way to trace the call, Blair sent mute prayers to the powers that be. 

Philips wasn't impressed. "Know what?" He grinned. "I don't think so." The sheriff left without another word. 

The cell was small. There was a toilet with a sink in one corner, and a plank bed on the opposite wall. No chair, cold walls, no dignity. Jim was lying on the bed, curled up on his side with his eyes closed. Even though he was unconscious, Jim's left hand still covered his groin. The blood from his head wound had dried and Blair could see the dark red lines running down his neck and throat. 

"Jim?" The young man crouched down and touched his friend's arm. "Can you hear me?" 

Receiving no response from the unconscious Sentinel, Blair walked over to the sink and, in seeing no towel, grabbed some toilet paper and moistened it under the cold stream of water. With the formless mass of damp paper Blair returned to his Ellison's side. 

"This is gonna be cold, big guy," Blair warned and gently wiped the blood away from Jim's neck. The anthropologist searched his pockets for a cloth handkerchief. The only thing he found was the cleaning tissue for his glasses. It was not that big but should fit the task. Blair wetted it under the water. 

Jim moaned and his body flinched as Blair tenderly dabbed the blood away from the wound on his head. The short hair was matted with dark blood but Blair managed to tend the injury without reopening it. It didn't look life-threatening. As Jim would say, head wounds usually look worse than they are, and Sandburg hoped it was true. 

"It's okay, Jim. You gonna be alright," Blair soothed and, using the another layer of wet toilet paper, cooled Jim's face and throat. 

Another moan and Blair could see Jims eyelids fluttering as the detective slowly regained consciousness. He kept stroking Jims shoulder, murmuring calming words. "Everything's alright, buddy." 

Jim's mouth became a tight line of pain, his gritted teeth revealed as his strong jaw muscles clenched. His body came awake and his brain started functioning again. He groaned and drew his knees closer to his chest, his hand still pressed to his crotch. The next instant, Jim whimpered, stretching his legs and rolling onto this back. "...ohhhhgoood...." Curling up once more on his side, his eyes opened. "....Blair?" 

Sandburg had never been so relieved to hear his name. "I'm here, Jim," he said and Jim's eyes rolled to find him. 

"...you..okay?" Jim breathed as another wave of pain surged through his groin. The man changed position again and lay on his back for a few moments. His chest fell and rose in short gasps of breath. Blair could only imagine the agony his friend suffered. 

"I'm fine, Jim." His hand moved and he gently touched Jim's left arm. "You have try and turn the pain down," he advised softly. 

The eyes shut again as Jim shook his head. Shifting restlessly onto his side, he winced. "...can't..." 

Blair was just about to reassure him to at least try and breath deeply, when Jim desperately tugged at the waistband of his jeans. His motions became frantic, hectic and his next words were almost inaudible with pain. "...get...open..." he gasped as the tightness of his pants added pressure on his hurting genitals. "God, Chief...get it ...open!" His hand fumbled with the button and zipper, legs shaking as he sought a more comfortable position. 

"Easy, Jim. Let me help you." Blair replied and gently covered Jim's hand with his own. "Can you roll on your back again?" The sweaty hand didn't let go and after maneuvering Jim flat on his back, Blair gingerly pried the hand away from the waistband. Jim moaned again but didn't struggle as Sandburg opened the trousers. Easing down the zipper, Blair loosened the pants hoping to cause at least a bit of relief. 

"Jim, find the dial, man. Youve got to get it under control," Blair explained as he urged Jim to lift his hips slightly. 

"Tried. It...doesn't work," Jim said. Even with his jeans down to his knees, the pain in his balls and penis hadn't subsided much. He couldnt tell what hurt. The sensitive area throbbed, his balls felt swollen, and the urge to urinate came and went. Even the slight contact his boxers made with the skin of his private parts sent flashes of lightning through his lower body. 

"Touch...out of control," Jim continued. 

Like the photographer's lightning this afternoon, Blair realized. It seemed like Jim's senses were in shock and going haywire. "Breath deep and slow," Blair said, cringing in sympathy with each wince and moan Jim uttered. 

Complying his Guide's words, Jim inhaled deeply. The muscles in his abdomen moved with the intake, his chest rose...and fell much too quick. "ahhhhhh....." The hand moved back to his crotch. "...hurts so much....." A child-like whimper escaped his lips and the pain-filled eyes pleaded. "Make..it stop." 

Gently taking Jim's hand into his, Blair murmured "I will, Jim... Trust me. I'm here to help you." 

I'm always here to help you, Blair vowed. I love you. 

He stroked Jim's forehead and hair while his other hand squeezed Jim's. "I know it hurts, but I want you to take a few deep breaths. Remember the breathing techniques I taught you. Come on, Jim. Do it for me." The grimace of pain distorted the Sentinel's face as he followed Blair's gentle order. "That's it. Do it again. In and out. Slowly. In and out again. You're doing great," Blair praised. 

"Hurts..." 

"Yes, I know, Jim, but you'll feel better soon," Blair soothed. He kept up the stroking rhythm while he explained his plan. "Jim, I want you to concentrate on your sense of hearing. Shut out all your other senses." An intake of breath and another moan. "I want you to deliberately zone out on your sense of hearing, Jim. There is no sight, no smell, no taste and there WON'T be any pain. Listen to my voice." Jim's face calmed and his breathing relaxed slowly. "Focus on my voice." Blair's words became hypnotic. "There's no pain anymore..." he lowered his voice to a whisper. "No one's gonna hurt you. I'm with you all the way." 

"No one's going to hurt you, big guy," Blair continued in his softest guide voice. "No one's gonna hurt you..." He stroked Jim's forehead. 

Blair lowered his voice to a whisper, inducing the Sentinel to focus even more on his sense of hearing. Blairs idea would eventually cause the zone out - an almost complete shut down of Jims other senses. It could become life-threatening but the young anthropologist would see to it Jim's life functions wouldn't shut down. A low moan occasionally escaped Jim's lips but soon his breathing evened, the lines of pain disappeared and his whole body relaxed. 

"Thats it, Jim," Blair praised. "The only thing you can sense now is sound. Filter out everything but my voice and follow it." The young man kept talking, his voice pleasant, tender and full of love. 

Love. 

Blair sighed as the word sent a stabbing pain through his gut. The love he felt for Jim Ellison was more than just brotherly. A deep affection of body and soul had claimed his heart a long time ago. The young man couldn't recall the precise moment when the fire had been ignited. Sometimes things just happened - love just happened - and all Blair could do was trying to hide his feelings from Jim. Sure, his logical mind told him that is was a bad idea to play emotional hide-and-seek but the possible consequences of revealing his feelings were unthinkable. Too unbearable. 

One part of Blair screamed at him to tell Jim the truth about his feelings, but another part struggled to keep it a secret. Why? Was he afraid of being kicked out of Jim's life? Of losing his observer status, his subject thesis? 

His friend? 

Continuing his soothing mantra, Blair shook his head. No, Jim wouldn't throw him out, but the moment Blair revealed his heart, their friendship would change dramatically. Sandburg couldn't tell if he would ever be ready to give up the wonderful friendship he and Jim shared for the possibility of being lovers. A friend of Blair's had once remarked he would never trade his friends for his lovers. A friendship like his and Jims was unique. 

As was love, wasn't it? 

Blair's eyes roamed over Jim's handsome face. The man was completely relaxed now, and as the anthropologist touched his pulse, he noticed an even, steady rhythm. "You are doing great, big guy," Blair repeated. "You don't feel any pain now and when you come out of it, your muscles will be relaxed and the pain'll be gone." 

Following his aching heart, the vow of love was just a whisper. "I love you, Jim." 

* * *

Chewing on his unlit cigar, Simon Banks watched silently as his four detectives tried to get any information on Ellison and Sandburg. The Banks house had suddenly become a police headquarters; the poker game was abandoned. It had only been an hour since Blair had called and so far they hadn't found out anything. Simon's caller ID had been blocked making it impossible to trace the call. 

"Anything?" Simon barked in his usual manner as Megan Connor got off the phone. 

The Australian inspector shook her idea. "Nothing, sir. The phone company can't trace the call, and even if they could the connection was too short to pinpoint the location." 

I know that, Connor, Simon thought. "Thanks," he grunted. 

Henri Brown walked over to Simons desk. "One of Sandburgs co-workers at the university said hed mentioned going to Seattle with a friend." 

"Were they going to stay at a hotel?" Simons question was met with a disappointed shake of head. 

Damn! Where are you, Ellison? Simon picked up his phone and dialed. 

* * *

The cell door squeaked noisily. Blair looked up from his place beside the old bed and found deputy Anderson entering their cell with a tray of what he supposed to be their dinner in his hands. 

"We dont want you to starve until morning," the man said and placed the plate onto the small table with a disgusted grunt. "If you want anything else, just ring for the room service," Anderson added with a smirk. 

Sandburg didnt want to eat, he didnt want their food, but he figured politeness couldnt hurt. 

"Thank you," he replied in a normal voice. He couldnt help the question that escaped his mouth involuntarily. "Why are you doing this?" He remembered hed asked that before and he hadnt received an answer. 

This time wasnt any different. 

Anderson kept silent and stared at the two prisoners. There was something in his eyes Blair couldnt quite interpret. Something in the deputys gaze made him feel uneasy and Blair silently prayed the man would leave them alone. 

Not betraying the fear that started to eat at his insides, the student returned Andersons stare calmly. His gentle eyes shone warmly as he said: "Anyway, thanks for the food." 

The anthropologist froze as Anderson stepped forward. 

"Does he like it rough?" 

"What?!" was the only word coming to Blairs mind as he watched the deputy sheriff with a puzzled glance. 

Andersons eyes glistered with \-- oh, god -- lust. Stepping even closer, Anderson now could touch Blair who was still crouching beside the shabby bed. Ellison hadnt moved, and his eyes were closed. Zone-out on a soft voice... 

"Im asking if hes a good fuck." Anderson grinned and grabbed his crotch in an obscene gesture. "I bet he is!" 

Startled, Blair found only one answer: "We arent lovers." His voice was now far away from the pleasant sound Jim was concentrating on. Hopefully, the Sentinel didnt have to listen to this conversation. 

Anderson laughed. "Who are you trying to kid?" 

To Blairs tremendous horror, the man crouched down in front of him and reached out with his hand. He touched Jims exposed thigh and gripped the flesh firmly. "Feels great." 

"Leave him ALONE!" Blair shouted angrily and slapped at Andersons hand. 

In the same instant, Blair saw the movement of Andersons other hand. It hit hard across his face and the young man fell backwards. 

"Do you want to play, little punk?!" Anderson spat as Blair scrambled to his feet, one hand pressed against his burning, red cheek. 

"Please dont hurt him," Blair pleaded. 

Anderson laughed again and the sound sent shivers down Blairs spine. 

"What do you mean, buddy?" Anderson inquired mockingly. "Dont you want me to touch him the way he likes it?" He grabbed Jims boxers. Squeezing the flesh underneath, he smiled. "God, hes well hung, isnt he?" With a sudden, fierce motion, he tore at the underwear and yanked it down to Jims knees. 

"No!" Blair said vehemently. He rushed forward again, trying to shield Jim from the dreadful deed Anderson had planned for him. "Leave him! Youve hurt him enough!" The determination and anger in Sandburgs voice was answered with another laugh. 

Roughly, Anderson grabbed the young man by the collar of his shirt. Blair yelped in pain as the fists squeezed the tender skin of his throat and shoulders. Large hands pressed into his windpipe, restricting his breathing, as the mans face nearly connected with his own. 

"Are you jealous, kid?!" Anderson shoved him back until Blairs calves met the frame of the bed behind him. "Are you afraid your buddy might enjoy the treatment he gets from me? Think he wants only me afterwards?" He shook Blair slightly. "Tell me!" 

The man was insane! Blair shook his head. Too scared for Jims sake, he could not form a coherent thought. The anthropologist pressed his hands against Andersons chest to fight against the restraint. 

"No!" Blair demanded again. "No!" 

"No?" Anderson repeated, amused. "Okay." All of a sudden, he let go of Blairs shirt. The student struggled for his balance, bracing himself against Anderson. The relief only last a few seconds. The deputy slapped at Blairs attempt to steady himself and pushed him down onto the edge of the bed. Blairs hand moved to his throat to massage the bruised flesh. He coughed a few times. 

"Hes all yours," Anderson granted in a generous voice. 

Blair didnt respond. He was just grateful the episode was over. Coughing again, Blair gazed over at Jim. His friends face was calm and relaxed. Apparently, nothing of the exchange had reached him. 

Hopefully. 

As Blair checked Ellisons pulse, Anderson interfered. "What are you waiting for?" 

"Hes unconscious, man," Blair replied. "Your colleagues knocked him out..." Go away, you jerk, Blair thought. Please, go away! 

Anderson pushed him again. "Show me how good you think you are!" 

The fear and uneasiness hed felt before returned with a vengeance. "What are you talking about?" Blair said. Without waiting for the answer, he knew. Shaking his head, he added: "Theres nothing to prove." 

Anderson lurched forward and his large hand engulfed Blairs neck. He pressed down until Blairs face touched Jims shirt-clad stomach. 

"Fuck him!" 

With some effort Blair shook his head. It was only a slight movement due to the strong hand that held him down. "Never!" His voice was muffled by the fabric of Jims clothes. Blair winced as the grip around his neck tightened, pressing painfully into the skin and nerves. 

"Oh, yes, buddy, you will!" Anderson promised menacingly. He shoved Blairs head down Jims body. 

"Please...dont....make me do that!" Blair begged. He felt the tickling sensation of Jims pubic hair on his face. "...please.... I cant...." 

"You cant?" Anderson said. "Ill jump in for you then!" he challenged. 

Blairs eyes filled with tears. "No, please..dont do that.... Please...." Fear for his friend made him make the next move. "If....you need..to...," Blair swallowed. "...take me." 

The laughter echoed in the cold cell. The sounds felt like the cracks of a whip on Blair's skin. Anderson punctuated this next words by tightening the steel-like grip on Blair's neck. "You?" The word was spoken with disgust and, somewhat, pity. "Sorry, kid, but I only take real men, not cry-babies that are about to wet their pants at the first sound of danger." 

Blair squeezed his eyes shut as the fingers dug deeper into the nerves of his neck. The strong hands kept the pressure, and the young man bit his lower lip. Anderson noticed his fight to be silent and laughed again. 

"Hey, hey, I want your mouth open!" 

Shaking his head no again, Blair suddenly cried out in pain. Anderson's fingers cut into his flesh, sending waves of pain through his head. 

"That's it! Now, show me how good you are!" Anderson forced Blair's head further down. "Suck him into your mouth..." 

Pressing his lips together tightly, the soft flesh of Jim's penis came within reach. The organ rested heavily between Jims thighs and Blair suddenly remembered the pain the Sentinel had suffered before from the blows to his groin. A silly sensation of relief flooded through Blair as he couldn't see any visible damage done to genitals. No swelling, no sigh of bruises... Thank God, maybe Jim was going to be okay. 

"Okay, sweetie, last chance." Anderson said as he saw the anthropologist was not going to comply. "You fuck him real good with that cute mouth of yours and I won't rip off his balls." Anderson nudged Sandburg's head. "What do you say?" 

The thought hurting, let alone humiliating his best friend like this made Blair sick. His stomach lurched, and the student swallowed hard a few times. However, Blair knew Anderson was crazy and the threat was serious, . 

God, Jim, I'm sorry, Blair thought. 

His lips touched the tender tissue. 

Don't hate me. 

Please. 

  
[Concluded in part two](onthe1.html). 


	2. Chapter 2

Part two of On the Run. Continued from part one.

* * *

Jim Ellison was flying. Fluffy white clouds carried him up into the deep blue sky and he felt free. The agony he'd felt before was fading as he listened to the pleasant, soothing, and soft voice of his Guide. Words of comfort were picked up by his over-sensitive ears and he drifted into the oblivion of a sound induced zone-out. His eyes were closed but he knew he wouldn't see anything. The taste in his mouth had disappeared, the smell of the cold cell mingled with the scent of Blair was replaced by the smell of nothingness. Touch mercifully reached zero at last. 

He loved Blair's voice. The timbre danced on his eardrums, and the sound alone reached Jim’s mind. Reverberations of soothing comfort massaged his inner ear, tickling its way to the center of Jim's skull. 

"Everything's all right, Jim." The sentence echoed and if his muscles were working, Jim would have smiled at the caress. "You gonna be okay." 

I believe you, Chief, Jim thought, wondering for a moment if it was possible for him to "think" during a zone-out. Guess it is, he answered for himself. 

Hovering above the level of physical pain, Jim actually felt good. He was relaxed and Blair's calming voice never failed. "There will be no pain," his Guide said. 

Thanks, Blair. It feels good. 

"I love you, Jim." The voice said. 

I love you, too, Chief. 

What was that? Not trusting his ears, Jim dialed up his hearing even more to pick up every single tone in his friend's gentle voice. The vow never returned. 

Say it again. Please. 

There was a silence for quite a while and the Sentinel lost focus. Where was the voice? Where was his...? 

Ah... there you are, Jim mentally sighed with relief as he picked up Blair's soft voice again. However—the words spoken now sounded frightened, and Jim's heart clenched. 

"Please don't hurt..." 

Chief? I'm okay, I'm not hurting..., Jim soothed in his head. What's wrong? 

"No!" 

C'mon, buddy, talk to me. 

"Please, don't...make...me do this. Please." 

Jim could clearly hear the fear in Blair's voice. What's going on there? Chief, I'm here. I'm with you. Don't be scared. In his mind, he quivered with rage at the mere thought of anguish Blair was going through. Anguish that made him plead and beg. 

"...take me." 

God, no, no, NO....what is happening, Sandburg?! Jim struggled to gain control over his senses again. He had to snap out of the zone-out. Something terrible was going on. 

Sobs. 

Weeping. Another plea. "I beg you...." Blair's voice was strained, sobbing again. 

For a while, the only sound Jim could pick up was the quiet sobbing of his young friend. He could hear tears falling onto skin, making little splash sounds like rain drops hitting a puddle. Then there was another sound that Ellison couldn't clearly identify. For some reason it frightened him, and what was more, it enraged him. 

Blair, please, let me come out of it. Help me, buddy. 

"Please...no more....I... cannot... cannot...do that." More heart-wrenching sobs tore at Jim's soul as he helplessly had to listen to the ordeal - whatever it was - his friend was going through. 

Hang on, Blair. I'm here. I'll be there for you, love. 

A whimper followed by another sob almost broke his heart. Someone was hurting Blair. Something unthinkable was happening and the detective couldn't do anything to prevent it. 

....anything. 

"..stop....pleasepleaseplease...." A hiss of pain. A soft moan. "I...cannot...anymore..." 

White rage exploded deep inside his body. Fighting the zone-out, Jim tried to concentrate on his breathing. The attempt to force his relaxed muscles to cooperate failed miserably, and, although he didn't feel it, Jim sensed his eyes welling up in tears of anger. 

Come on, Ellison, come on... Damnit! 

This ears delivered the sobs and moans from the outside world, and the Sentinel strained to make his body work. 

Fight it! 

His nerves were paralyzed by his own power of will. Jim tried to tear himself out of the zone out. Maybe it was a nervous muscle reaction, maybe his efforts were rewarded at last as his hands clenched into fists. 

* * *

Out of the corner of his watering eyes, Blair Sandburg noticed a movement. His vision blurred, and he blinked to clear away the tears. From the awkward angle, the anthropologist saw the motion of Jim's hands. Clenching. Raising his head imperceptibly, Blair risked a glance at Jim's face. Tears rolled out of the corners of the older man's, leaving a tiny trail of water along his cheekbone. 

Tears of ...disgust. 

The hands clenched into fists. 

Oh, mygod... 

Suddenly, Blair felt the bile rising in his throat. He swallowed the vile taste, but his efforts only resulted in violent gagging. At the same moment, he heard a sigh, a moan of pleasure as Deputy Anderson stroked himself to orgasm at the sight of ... 

Blair raping his friend! 

Jerking away from the bed, Blair tried a few steps, stumbling against the toilet. The vomit forced its way through his throat and mouth until his stomach cramped. The urge to retch didn't cease as the tears came again and again and again. 

* * *

Jim Ellison had listened to many awful sounds in his life. He had heard the screaming of metal as his helicopter had crashed in Peru. The moans of his wounded, dying men still haunted him in his dreams. Pain-filled cries of excruciating agony had filled his head the crackling of fire and the terrible outcry of pain would ever be audible in his ears; as would the gut-wrenching shout of a father losing his child. 

All those devastating sounds were nothing compared to the quiet sound of Blair’s crying. The begging and pleading hadstopped at some point but Ellison didn’t know if he should be grateful or not. The sobbing and hiccups echoed in his ears as the Sentinel fought to return to awareness. 

Breathe and relax. 

His sense of touch kicked in first. His clenched fists loosened their tight grip, cooperating with the commands his brain sent. The next sensation Jim became aware of was the distant pain in his most private parts. What..? 

Oh, yes..., he remembered the incident before, but fortunately, the pain had achieved a bearable level. His lower back hurt, too, and again Jim recalled the kick to his kidneys. 

Strangely, he was cold. 

Moving his head slowly, a flash of pain rushed through his skull. His right cheek rubbed over a rough surface and Jim opened his eyes. A gray mass came into focus in front of his right eye and he associated the sight with a blanket he was lying on. In his zone-out he must have rolled onto his side. 

Sound, smell and taste returned simultaneously. Smell started to bother him right away. The pungent odor of vomit assaulted Jim’s nose, mingled with the salty scent of tears and fear. His brain reasoned in slow motion, thus it took a few moments to piggyback smell on sight. 

Blair was huddled on the floor in front of the toilet, one arm wrapped around the porcelain bowl. His back moved with his ragged breathing, and only seconds later, the young man retched again, moaning as his empty stomach could only produce sour bile. Painful contradictions of muscles ravaged his body and he hugged himself around his stomach with the other arm. 

"B-blair," Jim croaked, his mouth was dry as sandpaper and the sounds were barely audible. Ellison tried to sit up on the bed. An odd pain in his back caused him to groan as he moved his exhausted body into a sitting position. The room started to sway in front of his eyes and Jim took a few deep breaths. 

His pants and boxers were around his knees, and Ellison quickly recollected the last cruel minutes before he’d zoned. 

Pain. 

Putting his clothes back on, Jim’s mind raced with concern about his friend. Blair must’ve heard his movements by now but he hadn’t shown any sign of recognition or awareness. Jesus, Chief, what have they done to you? The spots in front of his eyes disappeared and Jim carefully checked the steadiness of his legs. 

Swallowing another groan, Jim stood up and slowly walked over to his friend. His legs shook with the effort and he was grateful for the short distance. Although his body protested every movement, Jim remained standing. God, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so sore. 

"Chief?" He approached Blair and spoke softly. 

The small body clutching the toilet flinched visibly, but Blair didn't make an attempt to turn around. Instead, he dry-heaved again. His upper body trembled with the tremendous strain it took. The retching noises didn't subside as Jim knelt beside him. Grabbing a thick layer of toilet paper, Jim wetted it under a cold stream of water from the sink. 

Hesitantly, he reached out and gently stroked the mass of curly hair out of Blair's face. Showing no reaction, Blair breathed heavily. Sweat covered his forehead, and, with all tenderness he could muster, Jim touched his face with the moist toilet paper. 

"It's okay, Chief," he murmured, as Blair tried to jerk away. "It's me." The hand holding back the hair caressed Blair's scalp. "It's Jim." 

Reluctantly, Blair allowed Jim to bath his face. The cool moisture wiped the traces of hot tears away, and the anthropologist blinked. His head turned a bit and the blue eyes seemed to acknowledge Jim's presence. 

Long minutes of hiccupping sobs, soothing words and reassurance passed while Jim cleaned Blair's face. Anger flashed through him as he noticed the slight swelling on the younger man's cheek. Someone must've hit him there. 

"Are you hurt, Blair?" he asked carefully. He braced himself for an answer he knew wouldn't come but that was there anyway. 

Another long minute came and went. A small shake of the head, and Blair's voice was so tiny, so vulnerable, Jim wanted nothing more than to take his friend into his arms, Giving comfort where there was no comfort, giving love where there was no love possible. 

"Forgive me." 

Blair was asking for forgiveness? Forgiveness for...for the things that had been done to him? 

"Oh, god, Blair....There's ...nothing to forgive, buddy. Nothing." Lost for words, Jim gently tugged at Blair's shoulders to pull him into an embrace. "Can you tell me what happened?" His heart was broken as Blair struggled to get free of Jim’s embrace. 

Jim let go immediately, watching helplessly as his friend hunched over the toilet again, the dry-heaving even worse than before. 

"We have to get out of here, buddy," Jim tried to reach Blair with the necessity of escaping from their prison. "Do you think you can walk?" he questioned as Sandburg returned his glance with something that could be labeled as sanity. 

Getting no verbal response, Jim suddenly lurched forward and grabbed Blair by the arms. Surprisingly, the police observer didn't flinch this time as if he'd expected the rough treatment. 

"Listen to me, Sandburg!" Jim demanded firmly. Blair looked at him a bit more coherence. "We MUST get out of here NOW. I'm repeating one more time: Can you walk!?" 

Mutely, Blair nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine," he added. 

Resisting the urge to brush with his fingertips over the reddened cheek, Jim took a deep breath, and stood up quickly. Senses on full alert, Jim Ellison scanned their environment. 

* * *

"We MUST get out of here NOW. I'm repeating one more time: Can you walk?" The determination in Jim's voice finally alerted Sandburg and shook him out of his trance-like state. His head felt like it'd been packed into cotton balls, muffling the sounds and delaying his response time. 

Of course, he could walk. What a silly question! There was no reason for him to fall behind. 

He hadn't been violated. He hadn't been raped. 

**He** had raped Jim. 

Blair clutched at his stomach, his breath coming in short gasps again. This time though, a gentle hand rubbed his back in large circles and another covered his hand on his stomach. Jim was at his side, supporting his rebelling body. 

"Easy, Chief. You have to breathe. Everything'll be okay when we're out of here." Jim talked softly, his senses tuned in on his partner's vitals. "You sure you can walk?" He sensed the spasms in Blair's gut as the young man fought to keep the vomit down. Jim continued the stroking massage and waited a few moments. 

"Listen to me, Chief." 

Blair straightened finally, and looked into Jim's concerned eyes. 

You don't know, Jim, he thought. Another deep breath. 

"I'll get us out of here, Sandburg," Jim promised. "We have to get to a phone, call Simon and everything'll be fine again." Okay, it wasn't that simple, but Jim didn't bother with details. "But I have to know if you're okay." 

Blair's reply was inaudible, even to Jim's enhanced senses. The Sentinel patted Blair's back tenderly. "What was that?" 

"Does it make any difference, if I'm okay or not?" Blair said monotonously. 

Jim smiled, reassurance shining in his eyes. " If you're okay, it means I won't have to carry you." 

Blair's head snapped up, an incredulous look in his eyes. "You would do that?" His voice fell as he added: "Why?" 

Ellison raised his eyebrows. Although Blair sounded coherent, the strange answers sent chills down his spine. 

"We're in this together, Chief, you hear me?" Jim tilted his head as he saw Blair nodding absently. Blair was falling apart and the only thing Jim could do to keep his mind off his dark thoughts was ask for his help. "I'm going to listen for any sign of our friends, Blair." Another nod. "Can I count on you?" 

It took another slow nod, and, hesitantly, Blair reached out and touched Jim's arm with a trembling hand to prevent him from zoning. "Go on." 

Jim inhaled and turned up his hearing. 

<"Get a grip, boss! Nothing happened.">

<"Damnit, Anderson, you're an asshole! First the woman...">

<"That wasn't my fault, man, she was fighting me!"> <"Of course, she was, you moron! What did you expect? She would be willingly spread her legs for you? You are sick, Anderson! Right now I'm asking myself why on earth I cover for you.">

<"I'm family, dearest cousin...">

<"Listen to me, **cousin**. It might not be that easy this time." >

<"Saying what? This Ellison guy had her blood all over his hands. It's a piece of cake." 

<"What about his friend?">

A laugh. <"Geez, he was FUN!">

Ellison's jaw muscles clenched, grinding teeth on teeth. His body quivered with suppressed rage at Anderson's sneering voice. The desperate desire for revenge roared through Jim's body. The Blessed Protector’s need to return the pain they had inflicted on Blair with the same, if not more, force ached inside him like a sensation he'd never felt before. Even after Danny Choi had died in his arms, the thoughts of revenge had been kept at bay. Blair had been there to help him through the grief but now his young friend needed support himself, and Jim had to shove his feelings aside. For now. 

"What's going on, Jim?" Blair's voice was barely above a whisper so that he wouldn’t hurt the sensitive ears of his friend. 

Too focused on the dialogue between Anderson and the sheriff, and to engrossed in the need to hit someone, the Sentinel didn't react. 

<"Boy, I can tell you he was crying like a baby and pleading for mercy. Oh, it almost got me off right away.">

<"This is the last time I'll close my eyes, Anderson. Next time...">

<"What's next time? Are you saying you're going to compromise your own family name, **sir**?" >

"Jim! Snap out of it!" A firm but yet gentle order. 

The warm touch of Blair's hand finally brought Jim back. He shook his head blinked a few times. For a short moment, Ellison wished he could sink into those deep blue oceans of warmth and tenderness as Blair looked at him, checking to see if Jim was aware of his surroundings again. 

"Okay." His voice was hoarse with emotions. "Chief....." Struggling for eloquent words of comfort, Jim trailed off. "...I..." 

"You okay, Jim?" Blair asked, his voice shrill all of a sudden. "Are you...," The young man swallowed hard. "....hurting?" 

"I... don't know what to say." Jim replied without listening to the question he'd been asked. "It hurts so much..." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second. "I wish it hadn't been you...." 

Blair turned away. 

* * *

Get out, find a phone and call Simon. The plan only worked if they could get out of their cell. Using a piece of wire from the old bed, Jim managed to open the lock with an ease of skill that would make a burglars jealous. Jim concentrated on the sounds of the lock twisting and turning and smiled briefly in satisfaction as the locked clicked open. 

After that, all hell broke loose. It appeared Sheriff Philips and his men were waiting for the break out. As the two friends rounded the corner into the hallway Deputy Michaels welcomed them at gun point. 

"Where to, folks?" he asked casually. 

Blair froze. 

The Sentinel reacted. 

Michaels only saw the shadow of a movement as Ellison threw himself into the air and swung his leg. The impact shook Jim's body and he grunted as his tired muscles protested. The deputy stumbled backwards, crying out in pain as his jaw broke. He dropped to the floor with a loud thump. 

"Damnit!" Jim cursed and straightened up with a small moan. His lower back hurt, as did his head and his private parts but there was no time for nursing his injuries. He tugged at Blair's arm. "Whatever happens, Chief, I want you to run and don't turn back, okay?" 

"Jim...," Blair started but Jim placed a finger on his lips. 

"Trust me, okay?" He winked. "Hey, it's a kind of magic!" 

"What?" His young friend didn't get the movie reference and his eyes stared at him quizzically. 

"Just do what I told you, buddy," Jim asked. "Everything'll be over soon." 

Everything was NOT over soon, and only a few minutes later, the dark night swallowed the two men as they raced out of the sheriff's building. Michaels had only been one of the guard. As Jim reached for the telephone in the station’s entrance area, Philips and Anderson emerged from their hide-outs. 

"RUN!" Jim's shout was sharp and allowed no objections . He swung the nearest chair at Anderson and kicked Philips in the stomach. The sheriff was robbed of breath for just a second. Anderson ducked as the chair hit his shoulder, distracting him for the crucial moment Jim and Blair needed to escape. 

Blair crashed through the front door. The darkness of the night was like a black hole and the police observer stopped dead in his tracks. He couldn't see much. The stars and moon illuminated the black sky but it would be suicidal to run without the benefit of an enhanced sense of sight. Breathing heavily, Blair waited. 

Within two short, gasping intakes of breath, Jim burst into the cold night and almost ran into his friend. 

"Left!" He barked, pushing Blair, as he turned. 

Jim supported his friend as best as he could, tugging at his arm. The eerie shapes and forms of the forest loomed in front of them. Reaching the dark array of trees and rock formations was their only hope since the lights of the city would betray them. Reaching the first trees, Jim threw a look over his shoulders, turning up his vision to check of any signs of their pursuers. 

Two shadows. 

"They're behind us!" Jim hissed as he caught up with Blair. "We must find a place to hide for the night." 

"Forest?" Blair asked, panting, as Jim moved forward, his large hand bracing the smaller man's back to speed up Blair's movement. In the darkness, he groped for Blair's hand. 

"I'm the guide for now," Jim tried a joke that was lost on Blair who numbly followed without thinking. 

They ran. 

Now, they were fugitives. 

* * *

Opening the door to his son's bedroom Simon Banks silently stepped inside. Deep and even breathing greeted him, indicating Daryl's sleep was undisturbed. Snuggling into the pillow and blanket the younger Banks had his mouth partly open as he snored. Simon tugged at the blanket and covered Daryl’s left foot which stuck out from under the bed covers. The police captain smiled at the peaceful sight in front of him. 

Good dreams, son, he thought and turned to leave. 

His shoe connected with an item on the floor as he made his way out of the bedroom. A book was lying on the carpet, and as Simon picked it up, he smiled sadly. 

"Journey into the past – An anthropological adventure" the book cover promised. It carried a label of the library of Rainier University, and Simon sighed as he discovered a hand-written note inside. 

"Daryl, I'm sure you'd be interested in this one. It's very easy to read but nevertheless exciting and informative. Keep it as long as you want. No hurry. I rented it under my name and there's no problem with it. If you have any additional questions for your class or paper, feel free to ask me. ~ Blair." 

Banks hadn't been aware that his son was taking classes in anthropology, and suddenly he felt the strong urge to thank Sandburg for the help he offered. Simon knew Daryl liked the young anthropology teacher. He also knew most of the time the captain didn't acknowledge the fact that Blair was a true asset to department. They had had the discussion before and Simon now painfully remembered the argument they had after Blair's friend, "Sweet" Roy Williams, had been killed. Like everyone else, Sandburg needed a pat on the back once in a while. Simon tended to forget that since Blair was just an observer and one that got on everyone’s nerves at that. 

He would talk to Blair when they got back, the captain decided. He hoped the anthropologist would survive his current troubles and live to get on Simon’s nerves again. 

Blue smoke filled the air as Simon returned to the living room where Brown, Rafe, Taggert and Connor pulled every string they could think of to locate their friends. The clock on the wall showed 2.34 a.m., underlining the fact that they had spent hours and found out practically nothing. 

Henri Brown hung up the phone, scribbling words on a notepad. "Here we go, herewegoherewegohereweGO," he chanted, underlining his writing twice. "Hairboy, I hope you'll never change!" He clapped his hand in delight. 

"Brown?" 

The detective looked up and was aware of four pairs of eyes looking at him expectantly. Simon walked over to where Brown was standing and looked at the scrawled message on the piece of paper. 

"Oh, sorry, guys," Henri said, an apologetic grin on his . "I checked Ellison's credit cards but the inquiry came back without any useful results. He had filled his truck at a gas station in Cascade this,...uhm, yesterday morning but that's it. However, the search came back successfully when I ran Sandburg's credit cards. Yesterday morning his account was charged with exactly $34.98 for the purchase of a book called "Anthropology & Einstein". The book store was in...." He consulted his notepad again. "...Applebush. That's up north near the Canadian border." 

Simon picked up the phone. "Good work, Brown." 

* * *

It had started raining again. The huge trees provided some shelter for most of their way, but the wind and cold of the night chilled Jim and Blair to the bone. The temperature had dropped considerably, and whereas Jim was luckily able to dial down his sense of touch, he knew his younger friend didn't have such an advantage. The Sentinel could hear his chattering teeth. When Blair stumbled for the second time within a few moments, Jim stopped. 

Not seeing what his partner was doing, Blair ran into the brick wall that was Ellison. He gasped in surprise. 

"Whoa, Chief, easy," Jim gently touched Blair's shoulders with both hands, steadying the young man. Through the pitch darkness of the night, Jim could see the heavy rising and falling of his friend's chest. Patting the shoulders, the detective spoke whispering words of reassurance. 

"Try to breathe normally, Chief. Don't hyperventilate. - That's it." When he moved his right hand to tenderly stroke the windswept curls, Blair flinched, startled at the unexpected, but all the same welcome, gesture of affection. The young Guide wanted nothing more than to lean into the soft touch of Jim's strong hand on his head. Wanting to seek strength and comfort, Blair sighed. 

The older man let his hand fall. 

"We should find a place to stay for the rest of the night," Jim suggested. His eyes already searched the surrounding trees and bushes. He didn't see the tears forming a lake of sorrow and grief in the eyes of his friend. 

A large birch tree offered shelter and protection against the rain. Extending his senses one last time to check for Philips and his goons, Jim didn't pick up anything suspicious. Certain their enemies had given up the chase for the time being. The Sentinel sat beside Blair. Leaning his back on the big tree-trunk, Jim noticed Blair shifting away from him slightly as if he was avoiding bodily contact at any cost. Cursing inwardly and damning to hell the man who had hurt Blair, Jim reached out his arm without touching his friend. 

"It's pretty cold, Chief," he said in the same low voice he'd used before. "We cannot make a fire 'cause it would reveal our location in no time." For Jim, the night was as bright as daylight as he watched Blair slowly nodding, mutely confirming his logic. Carefully, Jim gathered his thought for his next words. "Do you think it would be okay for us to share body heat?" 

As Blair's head snapped up, he hurried to continue. "It's one of the first rules of survival in the jungle, you know. We have to try and keep warm. Otherwise we won't have time later to tell our grandchildren about our adventure." 

"Grandchildren," Blair murmured. 

"...or Simon and Daryl," Jim added, not knowing why he'd used the grandchildren remark. When Blair didn't make any move to comply with Jim's suggestion, Ellison made a little wave with his hand. "Come here, Chief. I'm cold." 

Jim was cold? 

Blair slid closer until his body connected with Jim's. "Better?" he asked, his voice colored with a concern that warmed Jim's heart. 

The Sentinel nodded. "Much better, thanks." His hand rested behind Blair's back. "Can I put my arm around your shoulders?" 

"I think so," came the awkward answer, and Ellison gently embraced Blair, pulling him closer with all tenderness he could muster. Moments later, the long hair tickled the older man's chin, as Blair, trembling with cold and something else Jim could only imagine, hesitantly laid his head on Jim's chest. Even without his heightened senses the Sentinel could feel Blair’s racing heartbeat. Cuddling together, the thundering melody was transferred to the sensitive receptors of Jim's skin. He tightened his hold on Blair. 

"Try to sleep, Blair," he said. His hand shifted a little and his fingers found a single curl of Blair's hair. Jim twirled it around his index finger, turning up his sense of touch to experience the texture. 

Blair didn't move, his heart rate slowing down as exhaustion finally washed over his body. 

What happened to you in that cell, Chief? Jim thought, his finger absorbing the thickness and warmth of the curl. I wish I could ease your pain. I wish I could have been there with you to prevent it, my love. Tears threatened to overwhelm him and Jim closed his eyes quickly. They snapped opened the very next second. Staring into the bright darkness, the Sentinel remembered a long-forgotten lecture. 

Sense memory! 

Even if had only concentrated on his sense of hearing, his other senses must have been working , picking up every terrible detail of the ordeal Blair had experienced. It worked before when Blair had helped him to recollect the night his partner Jack Pendergras had been killed. The senses never forgot. 

He had to know. He had to know what had happened to Blair a few hours ago. He had to know in order to help. He had to know in order to give Blair the love he needed. 

Dreading his memories, Jim took a deep breath. Focusing and senses on alert, the Sentinel exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. 

...and his senses remembered. 

* * *

The tender skin of his cock and balls from the kick. Blair would probably have an explanation handy to tell him why his body reacted so violently. The few seconds of relief were replaced by a pain knifing through his body, multiplied by super-aware nerve endings, by the curse of being a Sentinel. 

He could hear Blair's soothing voice. 

Relaxing. Deep breaths. No pain. 

The pain remained. 

Another voice. Another scent. The same scent he'd picked up at Joanna's house. Deputy Anderson, his brain provided. 

In the forest, Jim frowned, as... 

... a large, fleshy hand touched his thighs. Anderson's fingers felt sticky, sweaty on his skin as the trailed up and down the inside of his legs. Though only a memory, Jim struggled to move, wanted to jerk his body away from the unpleasant touch. But he couldn't. The past had already happened. All he could do was watch from this distant yet intimate point of view. Memories can't hurt. It's safe to remember, Blair's voice from another time and place invaded his head. 

Memories hurt. 

["Leave him ALONE!" Blair shouted angrily and slapped at Anderson’s hand.] 

Why hadn't he heard that before? Jim wondered. Blair's voice quivered with rage and anger, and he could hear the sound of Sandburg's hand slapping at Anderson's. Be careful, Chief, he's a jerk, Jim warned knowing he would be too late. 

It's safe to remember, Jim! 

The next sound he heard was Blair's muffled outcry of pain as Anderson slapped him across the face. God, I'll kill you, Anderson, Jim swore. 

["Please don’t hurt him," Blair pleaded.] 

A new pain exploded in Jim's genitals. Anderson grabbed his cock through his thin boxers and squeezed it roughly. 

Moaning, Jim bit his lip. Knowing the sensations he felt were only memories, Jim concentrated on remembering. He wasn't aware of the stirring of the body in his arms. 

His underwear was yanked down. The cool air brushed over his exposed body bringing an absurd relief as the pressure on his cock and balls subsided. Several minutes of pleading and begging for mercy - Burn in hell, Anderson! - past, while Jim thought about the various ways he knew to kill a man. It had to be slow and painful. He wanted it to last - to somehow make it up to the agony Blair was suffering. Jim was afraid of what his sense memories would reveal next. As much as he had to know the details, he couldn't stand the thought of being a mute witness of the suffering of his best friend. However, Blair had lived it, suffered it physically. If Blair could survive the assault on _all_ of his senses, surely Jim could stand to _hear_ it. 

["Fuck him!"] 

What? 

["Never!"] 

["Oh, yes, buddy, you will!"] 

Oh, my Lord. This is not happening. This is NOT happening. Don't... don't let him make you..., Blair. Don't destroy yourself to protect me. 

["Please...don’t....make me do that! "...please.... I cannot...."] 

["You can’t. I’ll jump in for you then!"] 

Reeling from the words he had just heard, he nearly missed Blair's pleading voice make the unthinkable offer. 

["If....you need..to...take me."] 

NO! Don't sacrifice yourself for me, love. Do whatever you have to do. But don't let him rape you. I don't care what he does to me. Just... nononoNO, don't... 

Anderson disgusting answer cut off Jim's thoughts. 

["You fuck him real good with that cute mouth of yours, I won't rip off his balls."] 

I'm sorry, Blair. Forgive me. Please. 

I love you. 

Warm moisture caressed him as Blair's mouth engulfed his limp cock. The tongue flickered around the head and down the shaft, a gentle rhythm, almost lovingly if there hadn't been the sneering face of their tormentor. Sucking and licking his cock, Jim could feel Blair's ragged breath, as the young man heavily breathed through his nose. Swallowing more of his length, the mouth massaged the organ with a gentleness that could be love. A pearl of moisture hit the sensitive skin, and without actually seeing it, Jim knew it what it was. Blair was weeping silently as his mouth was abused so horribly. 

"Let's see what you can do to his ass!" Anderson demanded menacingly. 

Jim's cock was released abruptly, and he shivered as the wetness cooled on him. Anderson's order didn't surprise him but his fear for Blair increased. Despite the knowledge he couldn't change what had happened, Jim pleaded with him in his head. 

Come on, Chief. You don't have to do that. Don't let him hurt you any further. Let Anderson kill me if it gets him off. Don't... 

Like before, the memories kept coming. 

"Please... I beg you to stop...Don't make me ...pleasepleaseplease...," Blair whimpered, his heart rate skyrocketing as rough hands grabbed Jim's hips and turned him over onto his side. The uneven surface of the blanket he was lying on scraped over his face and Jim remembered he had woken up in that position. 

Blair... 

"Stop the pity-party, buddy," Anderson scornfully shut up the heart-wrenching pleas. "Get to it! Be quick... I am." 

"I...can’t...," Blair rebelled again. His voice suddenly was firm again. "You can kill me, but there's no way I would ever be able to..." Faltering, he struggled for the words. 

"...are you saying you can't get it up?" Anderson laughed again, jeering at Blair's inability to get hard enough to rape his friend. "God, boy, be inventive! Nimble fingers always do the trick." 

Another sob. "It's...I have...," the hiccupping voice of his friend broke Jim's heart for the umpteenth time. "....need something," Blair brought out and was rewarded with a grunt of dismay. 

"Geez, kid, you're killing me. Use spit, damnit!" 

"It's not enough...," Blair protested weakly but another hiss of pain cut off his complaint. Jim felt a small hand gently fondling his balls, gingerly stroking the soft skin and then a careful wet finger slowly traced down the cleft between his ass cheeks. Reaching his center, the finger stopped. A circling motion around the opening distributed the small amount of salvia, lubing the tender area as best as was possible. Probing with his fingertips, Blair met resistance. 

"Listen, I'm going to hurt him real badly if I don't use...." the young man tried to reason again. 

A moan. 

"Just stick 'em inside him NOW." Anderson's voice sounded strained and Jim's sense of smell recognized the unmistakable odor of pre-cum and arousal. The bastard was jerking off. 

Pushing harder against the tight muscles of Jim's anus, Blair's finger finally gained entrance. It hurt as the intruding digit probed around and Jim felt a burning pressure building up he'd never felt before. The snug tunnel fought against the finger. Trying to expel the irritating object, the internal muscles clammed down on the digit. 

"More....," Anderson's moan of pleasure and excitement contrasted with Blair's sobs and pleading. 

A second finger touched his anus but this time his body denied access. 

["..I...cannot...anymore..."] 

Suddenly, the pressure disappeared. Jim heard the gagging and retching as Blair threw up into the toilet while Anderson reached his climax. 

Finally, the recovered memory caught up Jim’s conscious memory of when he’d awakened. It was over, but the knowledge of what had occurred was worse than everything Jim had feared. He could not help but wonder - What was more devastating - the rape of a body, or the destruction of a soul? 

* * *

The sweet chirping of the early birds woke the Sentinel. Squinting at the first rays of sunshine, Jim sat up with a start. His muscles were sore and the sudden movement sent waves of pain through his body. He didn't pay attention. The space beside him was empty. Blair was gone. 

"Blair?!" Jim shouted, memories still fresh in his head. 

"I'm here, man!" From his position leaning against a tree a few feet away, Blair raised his head at the shout of his name. His arms were crossed over his chest, and Jim could see the tremors of cold running through the small body. 

"Are you okay?" Jim moved to his knees and, supporting his body with a hand on the soft ground, he slowly stood up. Suppressing a moan at the twinge in his... his... Jim couldn't form the word. He walked over where Blair was standing. 

"Yeah, I'm fine," was the answer he had expected. Then: "What about you?" The blue eyes were concerned and Jim knew why. 

"Everything's okay, Chief," Jim reassured. He wanted to hug his friend to show him it was true. But at the same time, he knew they needed time. A quiet place to sort things out. To confess, to heal. "Listen, Blair...," he began. 

"We should try to find the damn phone," Blair interrupted as if he knew what Jim was trying to say. He moved around Jim before the older man could react. "Now is as good a time as any, so I think we should go now." 

Jim swallowed. "You're right. We have to call Simon..., and we have to find Danny." 

"Do you think he knows something, Jim?" Blair asked as they made their way back to Applebush. 

"Probably," Jim nodded. "It would be good to have him there to tell his side of the story when we confront Anderson." 

Blair flinched at the name. "What...," he licked his lips. "What makes you so sure Anderson has to something to do with the murder?" 

"I heard him talking to Philips about it," Jim answered. "They're cousins and Philips is covering for him." 

"I called Simon yesterday," Blair said. 

"What? When?" Jim asked back. He restrained Blair's movement with a gentle hand on his shoulder. The young police observer shrugged. 

"It just came to me again. I ...I ...demanded a phone call and Philips granted me one. I managed to say a few words to Simon before Philips disconnected the line." Blair looked up into Jim's eyes for a second. Then he dropped his gaze to the ground again. "Sorry, man. I didn't have enough time to tell him where we were." 

Ellison smiled and patted Blair's shoulder. "You did good, Chief. At least Simon knows now something's wrong." He was silent for a moment. "You had no choice, Blair. There was nothing you could do." Blair still didn't meet his eyes, and Jim added: "We talk about everything when we're home." 

* * *

The glass doors of the sheriff's office burst open and a tall Black man stormed in. Two men, one in a suit with tie and vest, the other in jeans, shirt and a funny hat, followed him and positioned themselves beside the man. 

Deputy Michaels looked up from his desk. "What can I do for you, sir?" he asked politely. The traces of last night's struggle had been erased and the office looked perfectly normal. 

The tall man slammed his badge and ID on the counter. "I'm Captain Simon Banks of the Cascade Police Department." He gestured at the two men. "These are Detectives Rafe and Brown." 

Granting Michaels a few seconds to let the information register into his brain, Simon continued: "I'd like to speak with the Sheriff." 

Michaels picked up the phone and dialed a number. "Sheriff, here are three officers from Cascade PD to speak to you." He listened to the voice on the other end of the line. "Yes, sir." He hung up the phone and smiled at Banks who didn't return the pleasantry. 

"Sheriff Philips will be with you in moment. Why don't you take a seat over there?" He pointed to a sitting area near the window. 

The three men remained standing. 

* * *

The little boy shivered with cold. Martin's parents’ old shed had offered shelter from the storm last night, but the cold had started creeping through his clothes a few hours ago. Danny was wearing jeans and the warm pullover his mom had knitted for him last winter. A colorful anorak provided a bit more warmth as did a Jags cap covering his brown curls. His eyes were burning from crying and the gnawing fear of being discovered by the bad men twisted his young face. 

Aunt Joanna was dead. Mr. Anderson had come to their house and he had hurt her. Danny had been playing outside when the first scream of pain had ripped through the peaceful afternoon. He'd run back into the house and Joanna had ... Joanna had...been crying. Pleading with the men who was beating her, but Mr. Anderson hadn't stopped. 

Scared to death, Danny had run away. Run away to a place no one would find him to beat him,. 

The tears streamed over Danny's face. He didn't know what to do. What Mr. Anderson had done to Joanne was wrong. If you did something wrong, the police came and arrested you. Danny knew that because his mom had always told him not to take anything from a store. Stealing was wrong. The police would come and put him in jail. But... Mr. Anderson was the police. Danny had recognized his uniform and he knew he'd come sometimes to see Joanna. 

Mr. Anderson would probably be very mad at him. Maybe it had been wrong to look? Maybe Mr. Anderson would put him in prison and he would never be able to come out again to play with his friends? Another thought came to mind and the flood of tears didn't seem to stop. Detective Jim would be very mad at him, too, right? He wanted to be Jim’s friend and now Danny had seen the bad things and Jim wouldn’t like him anymore. 

Weeping softly, Danny curled up into a tight little ball. He was hungry and thirsty, too. And he wanted his mommy. 

Suddenly, the wooden door to the shed opened and bright sunlight streamed through the opening. Danny tensed up, and pulled his baseball cap down to shield his eyes. 

I won’t see anyone and they won't see me. Drawing up his knees, the little boy hugged himself and listened to the sounds. Little spots of light danced in front of the dark blue cloth of the baseball cap. 

"Danny?" A soft voice called his name. Someone was kneeling down, not touching him, but the voice spoke again. "Are you okay, little chief?" 

Danny recognized the voice. It belonged to Detective Jim. Gathering all his courage, Danny took the baseball cap off his face, blinking at the brightness from outside. A shadow, smaller than Jim, stood in the door, watching and waiting. 

"Hi there," Jim sat down on the ground. "Are you playing hide-and-seek?" 

Danny shook his head and sniffled. "Are you mad at me?" he asked in a tiny voice. 

A genuine smile crossed Jim's features and Danny dared to hope again. Detective Jim didn't look like someone who was mad. 

"No, Danny. Why should I be mad at you?" 

Wiping at the moisture in his eyes, Danny sat up, losing his cap as he did. "Because I...looked. And...I know...I should not have looked. It's wrong. If you do something wrong, the police arrests you and throws you in jail." The endless stream of words was interrupted by occasional hiccups, and Jim hurried to reassure him. 

"Hey, my friend, you didn't do anything wrong," he said softly. He reached out for the baseball cap and repositioned it on the mop of curls. Smiling as he recognized the logo, Jim commented, "Wow, you're a Jags fan? So am I!" 

Danny's eyes lit up. "Have you ever been to a game?" he asked eagerly. "My dad wants to take me to a game on my birthday." 

Jim gently nudged the boy's chin. "I bet you'll have fun. Maybe the three of us could go together?" The 'adult' sound of Jim's voice made Danny begin to forget his fear . 

"That is WAY cool!" 

Ellison smiled but his expression grew serious soon. "Danny, do you know what happened to your aunt?" he asked gently, stroking the boys cheek as the tears trickled down his face again. Danny nodded mutely. 

"Can you tell me about it?" 

"Promise you won't be mad...." the little lad begged, uncertain and afraid. 

Jim crossed his heart and held up his fingers. "Scout's honor," he vowed. 

Danny's stomach growled. 

"What do you say when we have breakfast at your friend's house first?" Jim suggested. They had talked to Martin's parents first, trying to explain the situation, and Mrs. Dirks had been surprisingly cooperative. 

"Hhmm." 

"I'll take that as a yes," Jim concluded and took Danny by the hand. He nodded towards Blair who had watched the exchange between them from the door. Jim mouthed 'okay' and they walked outside. When the boy passed by Blair, he looked up to the young anthropologist. Remembering something Detective Jim had told him yesterday, Danny said: 

"I'm Danny. Detective Jim calls me Little Chief, but I'm not little." 

Blair smiled and went down to be face to face with the boy. "Hello, my name's Blair. He calls me Chief, too, you know." He winked. 

Danny thought for a moment. "I think he must really like you if he calls you that," he concluded. 

* * *

Simon Banks was about to erupt. Brown and Rafe exchanged worried glances as their Captain entered the Sheriff's personal space, speaking directly into his face. A deputy Anderson was present, too, whereas Michaels had stayed at his place at the front desk. 

"Listen to me, Philips," Simon barked. "Last night, Mr. Sandburg called me at home telling me his partner DETECTIVE Ellison was hurt and they had been arrested. All of the sudden the line broke, and now you're telling me, they ESCAPED using lethal force?" He took a deep breath. "You know, Sheriff, I've known James Ellison for five years now and he's a person of integrity. Whatever you say he is accused of is absolute nonsense. Same goes for Mr. Sandburg." 

"Maybe your officer got a bit carried away, Captain," Philips suggested. "He was at the victim’s house, his hands were covered with her blood and there are no other suspects." He threw a glance at Anderson. "I'm sure a DNA match would've come back positive if we had had the time to get a sample. Unfortunately, your men decided to escape and I'm certain they would've killed us if the opportunity had presented itself." He paused a moment. "Why would Detective Ellison want to escape if he was innocent, Captain?" 

Because he's as stubborn as a donkey, Simon thought, wishing he had a cigar to chew on. Aloud he said, "Why was he hurt?" 

"Sir?" 

Simon rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. "Mr. Sandburg told me on the phone Detective Ellison was hurt, and I'm asking you WHY!?" 

"Have you ever heard of police brutality and sadism, Simon?" The calm voice startled everyone. Simon whirled around to see Jim Ellison standing in the doorway. 

"Jim!" 

The detective looked awful. His face was tired, his clothes dirty and partly torn. Behind him, outside the room, Banks saw the unconscious body of Deputy Michaels sprawled on the floor. They hadn't heard a sound, and the look in Jim's eyes told Simon he was tired, angry and very dangerous. One spark and the Sentinel would turn into the primal snarling beast of a black jaguar. 

Brown and Rafe put their hands on their guns. "You okay, Jim?" 

"Yeah, guys, I'm fine," Jim replied stepping forward. 

"Sheriff," he nodded and Banks watched his every movements. Something had happened here and Simon wasn't sure he wanted to know the details. 

"Detective, I'm sorry for the inconvenience caused but you must admit the evidence...," Philips tried to defend himself. 

"Of course, I understand," Jim said conversationally. Turning his head, he spoke to Simon. "Captain, outside in your car there's a witness who is going to testify against the murderer of Joanna Jackson. Sandburg's with him." 

Simon nodded. "Rafe." The young detective left the room to look after Sandburg and the witness. 

"What happened here, Jim?" Simon asked. 

Ignoring the question, Jim moved over to Anderson. "Mr. Anderson here is the one you're looking for. He raped and killed Joanna Jackson," he stated calmly. 

"You're lying, Ellison!" Anderson spat. 

A second later, his eyes threatened to pop out of his head as a strong hand reached down between his legs and grabbed his crotch in a painful grasp. Anderson cried out in agony, trying to jerk away from Jim's touch but the detective didn't give in. He squeezed harder through the pants, already feeling the swelling beneath his fingers. Anderson wheezed for air and his knees buckled. 

"Detective!" Simon's unspoken order was lost on Jim. 

Digging his fingers into the tender flesh of Anderson's genitals, Jim didn't smile as he said, "It would be so easy to tear your balls off, Anderson." The deputy's eyes grew even wider at the threat. "Just pull, twist and turn," Jim murmured as if he was thinking about the correct procedure to castrate an opponent. Anderson let out a wail of pain as Jim's hand became a fist, crushing blood vessels and inflicting agony beyond Anderson’s worst nightmare. 

"But it's too easy for you," Jim spat and withdrew his hands. Anderson slumped against a desk, his hands clutching his groin as he slowly slid to the floor. Little gasps of pain escaped his mouth and Jim knew he should be satisfied. 

He was not. 

* * *

It was 10.53 p.m. when Jim and Blair entered the loft. They were both exhausted after the events of the last two days and ready to collapse on their beds. Anderson had been arrested for the rape and murder of Joanna Jackson and it seemed little Danny wouldn't have to testify against him. Philips and Michaels had gotten cold feet - probably due to the treatment Jim had given Anderson - and spilled their guts. Anderson was sick, sexually obsessed and according the Philips's statement, it hadn't been the first time he'd assaulted a woman. The sheriff had always covered for him because they were cousins. basically Philips had been afraid it would harm the family if news of Anderson’s perversions became public. What a sick reason, Jim thought as he threw the keys into the basket by the door. 

Blair shrugged out of his jacket and the garment almost slid out of his hands. Not bothering to catch it, Blair dragged his jacket over the floor, one hand pulling at the sleeve. 

"Are you hungry, Chief?" Jim asked as he moved to the refrigerator. "Soup okay?" Ellison knew they had to talk. He desperately wanted to talk to Blair but he had no idea of how to start.. 

"I'm not really hungry, Jim," Blair replied and yawned mightily. "I think I'm going straight to bed." He shuffled through the living room, dragging his jacket behind. It was a thoroughly pitiful sight. 

"I could make you one of your teas, if you want," Jim suggested softly. Don't vanish into your room, Chief, Please. Give me a chance...Don't..don't close that door. 

"Thanks, but I'm too beat to do anything else but crash." The young man reached the French doors of his room when Jim's voice stopped him. 

"Blair..." 

Not turning around, Blair's hand hovered over the door handle. "What?" 

"We have to talk about...what happened in that cell," Jim said calmly. He was still standing behind the kitchen counter and the distance between them felt endless. He noticed Blair's body tensing up and his hand grabbed the door handle. 

"Nothing happened, Jim," Blair replied, his voice shaking already. "You...you...were hurt and... I...I-I-I..." His heart rate sped up, his breath coming in harsh gasps. His hand still gripped the sleeve of his jacket like it was the only steady thing in the world. 

Jim rounded the counter and moved over to the dining table. He spoke to Blair's back. 

"Chief, I know **what** happened," he confessed quietly. Seeing the tremors racing through Blair's body, Jim cursed himself that he'd brought up the subject tonight, so soon. "Maybe it'd be better...," he started, but his friend jumped in finishing the sentence with a tear-stricken voice. 

"....for me to leave?" The hand on the door loosened its grip. "I can leave tonight, if that's what you want." The jacket made a scraping sound as it was dragged in the opposite direction. 

Jim stepped in front of Blair. "No!" He didn't touch Blair as he continued, "I don't want you to leave. I want you to talk to me." 

Blair stared vacantly at the pattern of Jim's shirt. "About what?" Suddenly, he raised his head and stared into Jim's eyes with an intensity that made Jim shiver. "Do you want to know how I raped you?" He gagged but managed to swallow the threatening bile. "Do you want to know how sick Anderson was?" He laughed joylessly. "What do you want to talk about, Jim? What do you want to hear?" 

"I want to hear that you love me," Jim blurted. 

"Ohmygod...," A spasm clenched his stomach and Blair's hand covered his mouth as he turned on his heel and raced into the bathroom. 

The sound of retching made Jim wince. . The bathroom door was open, and Jim rushed to Blair's side. Jim worried that Blair was vomiting the little bit of food he had eaten that day. 

Kneeling beside him, Jim held the long curls out of Blair's face and grabbed a washcloth from the rack. "Shhhh, it's okay, Chief. Take it easy. It's okay." Wetting the washcloth , Jim reached out and gently wiped the flushed, sweat-covered skin. Then he filled a cup of water so that Blair could rinse his mouth. 

Blair took the washcloth out of Jim's hand and pressed it onto his eyes. "Why?" he rasped, squeezing the moisture out of the cloth. 

"Why what?" 

Blair's head came up and he slumped against the tiled wall. "Why do you want to hear the words?" he cleared, the washcloth still covering his eyes. From the sound of his voice, Jim could tell he was crying. "Why is it so important to you to..." ...to destroy our friendship with the knowledge that I love you, Jim? Blair finished in his head. "Just tell me why," he pleaded. 

Jim swallowed at the sight of his hurting partner. "I wanna hear it because...because then I can say it, too." 

Hiccupping, Blair lowered the washcloth. His eyes were red-rimmed and his mouth open as he tried to breath through his suddenly stuffed nose. "I love you. So what? No big deal." 

"I love you, too, Chief." Jim replied honestly, feeling a great weight lift from his chest. 

Shaken by the calmness of Jim's words, Blair stared at him in disbelief. "You...." He swallowed the lump in his throat that had the size of a mountain. "...you really mean that?" His eyes started watering again. "Damnit! Damnit!" His fist hit the wall behind him several times. "That's not fair....not fair..." 

Startled by the sudden outburst of rage, Jim took Blair's hand into his. "Hey hey, little Chief, don't hurt yourself." 

"I'm no 'Little Chief'," Blair replied, sniffling. His fist opened and closed in Jim's hand while Jim tenderly stroked the fingers, hoping to ease the turmoil. 

"Danny thought the same thing," Jim smiled. "What's not fair, Blair?" he probed. 

With his other hand, Blair waved through the air. "This, man!" He closed his eyes and opened them a heartbeat later. "Now...you...I...everything's ....Anderson destroyed....it." 

Catching the hand too, Jim brought them together in front of them. "Listen to me," he demanded. "What happened....You had no choice. He forced you to do things to me he thought would satisfy his insanity, that would arouse him. YOU did everything you could to avoid that, even offered yourself. You saved my life, Blair. His threats were serious. You could've leaned back and watched....shhhh, let me finish....," Jim said gently as Blair started to interject. "He was ready to kill me. You chose to comply by performing the act he demanded." His hand brushed over a spot on Blair's neck. "I can see the bruises on your neck where he grabbed you and forced your head down." Blair sighed heavily, the fear and helplessness he'd felt before rushing back to him. Jim lovingly massaged the tense muscles. "Anderson didn't destroy anything between us. He tried but our love is stronger. Isn't it?" 

"Our love?" Blair whispered. 

Slowly Jim raised Blair’s hands to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on one of the knuckles. "Our love," he repeated. 

A puzzled expression crossed Blair's face as he recapitulated the speech he just heard. "How did you know all this?... I mean..you were zoned and...the r-r-ape and...." he stumbled over the words and Jim brought Blair's hands to his face and touched his cheeks. 

"I thought he'd raped you and I went back in my mind to find out what had happened," Jim explained. Blair's hand opened and caressed his cheek. 

"Sensual memory....God, I'm sorry you had to...relive this, Jim." He shook his head. "I thought I had lost you forever." 

Jim smiled and shifted. "Do you think you can stand up? " he asked, tenderly tugging at Blair's hands. 

"Don't know," Blair replied, disappointed Jim broke the contact so soon. "Why?" He moved to his feet and stood, his legs a bit wobbly. 

"I want to hug you," Jim grinned broadly. "And it's damn uncomfortable on the cold tile floor ." 

Their eyes locked for a long moment. Reading the love in each other's eyes, they both smiled. Blair stepped forward and his arms went around Jim's waist. Enfolding the smaller man into his strong arms, Jim returned the embrace, resting his head on the soft pillow of unruly curls. He felt Blair's breath on his chest, and then the younger man's arms tightened, as the tears came again at the thought what they could've lost. 

"It's okay, my love, it's okay to cry," Jim whispered, his own voice strained as he allowed himself to cry openly. 

The two men stood in the middle of the bathroom for a long time, not saying much Occasional hiccups were the only sound . Hugging each other tightly, they were both overwhelmed by the strong affection and love they felt, and they didn't try to stop the tears. They didn't have to. 

And they didn't want to. 

"Can I kiss you?" Jim asked when he trusted his vocal cords enough to voice the gentle question. 

Blair raised his head and the deep blue oceans blinked in consent. He opened his mouth partly, offering an invitation that needed no words. Never breaking the embrace, Jim bent down. He stopped short of Blair's waiting mouth. 

"I imagined in my dreams how you would taste," he whispered and with the same breath he pressed his lips onto Blair's. 

Their first kiss was shy, almost child-like, but as they touched, a fire born of long-suppressed longing surged through their bodies. Parting his lips slightly, Blair extended another unspoken invitation and soon felt Jim's tongue tasting him, exploring the unknown territory with a loving eagerness. Their tongues met, sending waves of heat to their taste buds Soon, the kiss started to deliver information to other regions. 

Panting and gasping for air, the two lovers broke their connection. They burst out into giggling as the watched the other breathing heavily. 

"I guess that was okay for starters, huh?" Blair laughed with drying tears in his eyes. 

Jim tightened his hold on Blair and nodded. "What do you say we go to bed and see what tomorrow brings?" Sensing the sudden tension in Blair's body, Jim hurried to say, "We don't have to do anything you feel uncomfortable with. Just rest and sleep in tomorrow." 

Blair rested his head against the broad chest of his lover. "Do..do you think...cuddling would be...okay?" he asked back. 

Blair's voice reverberated through his chest and Jim smiled at the pleasant, almost tickling sensation. He reached up and massaged the back of Blair's head. "Cuddling and snuggling?" he verified. 

The chuckle was answer enough. 

The tower clock of a nearby church struck twelve times as the two friends and lovers climbed into the big bed in Jim's bedroom. They had eaten the soup Jim insisted of warming up and both had taken a shower. Blair crawled into the nest of warmth beside Jim. They both were wearing boxers, and, as always, Blair had put on a tank shirt. Snuggling against the body beside him, Jim put an arm around Blair and tenderly pulled him closer. 

"You okay with this, Blair?" he asked gentle and kissed the tip of Blair's nose. 

With a quick movement of his head, Blair managed to place a kiss on Jim's mouth and smiled. "There's no place I'd like to be more." He hesitated for a moment before he put a hand on Jim's bare chest. It was enough for the Sentinel to notice though. 

"Everything's just fine, love," he soothed and with one finger he drew a small circle on the skin of Blair's shoulder. "You don't have to do anything." 

"You don't want it?" came the hesitant reply and Blair withdrew his hand. "Sorry, man." 

Jim moved so that he was lying on his side, facing the young man who was staring at. "Of course, I want it. It's just...I don't want you to remind you of....what he forced you to do." 

Blair shook his head. "Sorry." 

"Don't be sorry. 

A small tremor was met with a kiss. 

"Would you like to touch me, Blair?" 

The big blue eyes answered the question. Tentatively, Blair reached out again and gingerly brushed the warm skin of Jim's chest, caressing a nipple, rubbing tenderly. "Yes, Jim..." the younger man whispered, and a tear tickled down his cheeks. 

This was love. 

The End.


End file.
